Forsaken
by SassySnow1988
Summary: Rogue's not afraid of her powers anymore. She and a new "friend" are gonna paint the town red, to hell with the consequences. Whatever will the X-Men do? Oh, and Remy returns to New York...Special Guests: The Hellfire Club. Romy, Lancitty, some Jott, etc.
1. Prologue: Till Death Do Us Part

**Forsaken**

**A/N: **Hi there! This is my very first X-Men: Evolution fic! It's basically gonna be centered around Rogue, Remy, and… Sorry, but I can't tell you just yet who the other major character is! It'll ruin the surprise! :-) Oh, this fic occurs post-series (after the events of season 4, "Ascension"), the prologue beginning about 6 months after "Cajun Spice." The italicized parts are flashbacks and the bold parts within that section are thoughts during the flashback, normally thoughts will be simply italicized. One last bit of useful info: Translations from French/Spanish to English are listed in order at the end of the chapter (translations provided by b-a-b-e-l-f-i-s-h DOT a-l-t-a-v-i-s-t-a DOT c-o-m and then corrected by elfeleroux).

**Disclaimer: **I don't own X-Men, X-Men: Evolution or any of the characters therein. They all belong to Marvel and Stan Lee. I also don't own Interview with the Vampire or Queen of the Damned (the novels or the films), they both belong to Anne Rice and their respective production companies; I just love them both and use them for inspiration. The title of this fic was inspired by the song of the same name from the film version of Queen of the Damned: "Forsaken" performed by David Draiman of Disturbed.

**Chapter Rating: **Mature (Violence, language, legal consumption of alcohol, smoking, and gore)

**Special Thanks: **I have to thank The Past! Her amazing fic "The Black Piece" was what first inspired me to write a fic about Rogue going…well, rogue (forgive the pun). However, this fic is **NOT** based upon hers; this insane little fic sprang up entirely within my own imagination. Also I wanna thank Wiccamage for being the first to like my idea for a Romy X-Men: Evolution fic, as well as helping me out by reading my rough drafts and giving me her thoughts. Without her insight this would've taken a lot longer to write and been a lot crappier, so be thankful she helped me! lol And check out her amazing fic "Getting Warmer." It's freakin' awesome! And last, but certainly not least I've gotta thank y-o-u-t-u-b-e DOT c-o-m for supplying this neurotic writer with tons of music and funny videos so that I can get these things written and not pull my hair out while I do so! :-) lol

**Written While Under the Influence of: **David Draiman-Forsaken, Shinedown-No More Love, Percy Sledge-When a Man Loves a Woman, The Righteous Brothers-Unchained Melody, Meredith Brooks-Bitch, Love Spits Love-How Soon is Now, Screaming Trees-Look At You, Neurosonic-So Many People, Neurosonic-Fearless, Fuel-Wasted Time, Avenged Sevenfold-The Beast and the Harlot, Daughter Darling-Broken Bridge, Des'ree-You Gotta Be, Enya-Book of Days, Alicia Keys-No One, Snow Patrol-Chasing Cars, Evanescence-Tourniquet, Sting-Every Breath You Take, Styx-Renegade, Another Animal-Broken Again, Apocalyptica-Hope, Journey-Wheel in the Sky, Whitesnake-Here I Go Again On My Own, Nazareth-Love Hurts, Monster Magnet-Space Lord, Lisa Gerrard-End Theme (Man on Fire), and Johnny Cash-When the Man Comes Around.

And now we pull back the curtain and begin the show! :-) Enjoy!

**Prologue: Till Death Do Us Part…**

Preternatural red-on-black eyes smoldered like embers as they gazed at the reflection of the full moon upon the dark, stagnant waters of the bayou. The young man stood alone on the outskirts of an antiquated Southern mansion; the edifice crudely curtained by clumps of Spanish moss that hung from a multitude of nearby cypress trees. The centuries-old vegetation towered like gigantic wooden sentinels over the property, effectively concealing it from prying eyes. A worn brown leather trench coat hung off the man's rangy frame, the tails fluttering listlessly about his ankles with the slight breeze that swept across the still waters. The wind tousled his short brown locks, causing them to fall into his eyes. He irritably shoved them back out of his line of sight then reflexively smoothed his fingers over his goatee. A lit cigarette, burnt down almost to the filter, dangled precariously from his fingertips.

This was definitely _not ___how he imagined he'd be spending his wedding night, he thought as he allowed the spent cigarette to slip from between his fingers and fall to the ground below. He crushed it beneath the ball of his foot and pulled another from the pack that rested beside him atop a wooden fence post. Today should've been the happiest day of his young life, and had he been asked that very question just a few hours ago he undoubtedly would've said yes. But now…now he was absolutely certain that this day was the darkest of his often morbid existence.

When Remy LeBeau awoke that morning he'd been filled with ecstatic anticipation.

Today he'd be marrying the woman he'd been head-over-heels in love with ever since he was 10 years old and, in doing so, bring an end to the ceaseless fighting between the Guild his blushing bride belonged to and his own. No longer would the streets of New Orleans run red with the spilt blood of Assassins and Thieves for the sake of a feud so ancient no one even remembered how it all started. And no longer would he be labeled an undeserving adopted thief who didn't truly belong, even among his own Guild. Remy would've finally earned the immense gift that the man he called father had bestowed upon him when Jean-Luc LeBeau took that dirty, gangly boy with the odd eyes in off the streets and brought him into his family and home.

Even though Remy didn't often agree with his adopted father, especially when it pertained to matters of Guild relations, he was still eternally grateful to Jean-Luc for the vastly improved life the leader of the Thieves' Guild had given him nearly a decade ago without question.

But now he was an orphan once again. He'd been thrown out of his family and home just hours after he and Bella Donna Boudreaux became man and wife.

Heaving a barely audible sigh, he placed the new cigarette between his lips and removed a Zippo decorated with the Ace of Spades from an inner pocket of his trench coat. The pad of his thumb pushed down on the grooved surface of the lighter as he brought it to the tip of the cigarette. Almost instantly a flame caught and he inhaled deeply, welcoming the toxic smoke into his lungs and reveling in the nicotine-induced calm that accompanied it. As the wispy, blue-gray clouds of smoke rose into the inky blackness around him, he could swear that he saw Bella Donna's beautiful face etched into each one.

His handsome features twisted into a grimace at the memories her face brought to the forefront of his mind.

XXX

_The reverent quiet of the church surrounded him, pressing down upon his body like a physical weight and causing his raging heartbeat to sound even louder in his ears. The flickering candles along the walls bathed the entire room in an otherworldly glow and cast long amorphous shadows over the hardwood floors. The overwhelmingly saccharine scent emanating from the dozens of roses lining the aisle in front of him tickled his nose and made him want to gag at the excessive sweetness. The hateful glares the Assassins were subjecting him to from their side of the church burned into the pit of his stomach and only served to intensify the anxiety he already felt. The discomfort of the too-tight bowtie around his neck made his fingers itch with the desire to loosen it. The comforting presence of his older brother and best man, Henri, at his side helped to alleviate some of his stress, but not nearly enough._

_All these details mercilessly bombarded his senses as Remy stood before the pulpit trying not to get reacquainted with his breakfast while he waited for his bride to appear. _

_Remy took a deep breath and willed himself to relax. He was getting married, not walking to the gallows. He really needed to calm down before he made himself sick. Henri would never let him live it down if he tossed his cookies right there in the middle of the aisle, especially since his brother had managed to make it through his own wedding while combating the mother of all hangovers from his bachelor party the night before without even once throwing up. _

_The groom allowed his gaze to shift to the side of the church where the rest of his family was seated in an attempt to take his mind off his own nervousness. Henri's wife, Mercy, sat at the end of the first pew, her soulful brown eyes drifted to his and twinkled as she offered him a warm, encouraging smile. Hitching his haughtiest smirk into place, Remy lewdly winked at her just so she'd glare at him. Her expression instantly changed into an exasperated frown; one perfectly shaped eyebrow quirked itself up high onto her forehead, nearly disappearing beneath her feathery bangs. He bit his tongue to hold in the laugh that bubbled up in his throat. It was absolutely hysterical when Mercy gave him that mock-glare. Although his sister-in-law had been brought up as an assassin herself, she'd never actually hurt him, the petite blonde presently casting him a death glare loved him far too much to do so. _

_In the space next to Mercy was the woman who'd been the closest thing to a mother Remy had ever known. Mattie Baptiste—or as Remy and every other child of the Guilds knew her, Tante Mattie—was a Cajun mystic and healer, as well as a Traiteur to the Guilds. But more importantly, she'd taken care of him as though he were her own son since the very first day she met him just after Remy had been adopted._

_Remy never knew either one of his birth parents, having been abandoned at a New Orleans hospital when he was only days old, but Tante had more than made up for that loss over the years. She doted on him, much more so than any of the other children that she took care of. Remy suspected it was because he was truly an orphan and Tante had no biological children of her own. The other kids all had at least one parent in the Guild, but seeing as Remy had no one, Tante had taken a special liking to him. She'd spoiled him absolutely rotten at times, but she also endeavored to teach him to be what she called a "Southern gentleman" and would come after him with a wooden spoon any time he conveniently "forgot" his manners. Henri often informed Tante that while her attempts to reform a scoundrel of Remy's caliber were truly noble efforts, they were ultimately futile._

_The old Creole woman fixed her coffee-colored eyes on him and beamed with pride. Twin crystalline tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and cascaded down the bronzed skin of her cheeks. Tante had traded in her usual outfit of a thin cotton, off-white blouse and long print skirt for the dress Remy had bought her specifically for this day. Lavish, royal purple silk fabric embellished with intricate designs trailed over her stout form. He knew that she didn't ordinarily wear such extravagant things, mostly because she didn't see the point of owning something that she'd only get to wear on special occasions, but Remy simply couldn't resist returning the favor to spoil her back just once. _

_The young thief squared his shoulders and made sure to stand up straight so that she wouldn't pull him aside after the service and berate him for slouching. He also ordered himself not to even think about loosening the tie that was intent on choking the very life out of him with Tante sitting right there, otherwise she'd undoubtedly skin him alive. _

_Remy then turned his gaze to the man sitting beside Tante_ _Mattie, Jean-Luc. His adopted father wore a finely tailored gray suit with a matching vest and a crisp, high-collared white dress shirt beneath it. Legs primly crossed with his hands folded in his lap, the expression on his face was the very epitome of the word "stoic." He stared blankly ahead, his neon green eyes held nothing within their shining depths. Not happiness, not pride; they were completely devoid of any emotion. _

_Remy recognized that look. _

_It was the same one Jean-Luc donned when he played poker: his face transforming into an emotionless mask that even someone as good as Remy couldn't read. Normally that expression just frustrated Remy because it meant he'd very likely lose the game they were playing, but now it unnerved him. He wanted to believe that his father had resorted to that look so as to not reveal that he was on edge about having so many Thieves and Assassins together or that he was portraying the strong, impervious Guild Leader in public, but deep down he was secretly proud of his "son." However, Remy knew better, Jean-Luc was never that simple or direct. If something was bothering him it was highly unlikely that the younger thief would ever find out exactly what it was. _

_Suddenly the immense mahogany doors at the back of the cathedral opened, ending Remy's contemplations, and in walked…Belle… She'd never looked more beautiful to him than in that moment as she strode down the aisle toward him. A traditional white wedding dress graced her lithe frame, ivory-colored lace and tiny pearl-like beads crisscrossed the bodice and tumbled down the skirt. The sleeves hung below her shoulders and billowed out in soft satin waves, tightening into decorative cuffs embossed with more lace and beads at her wrists. The train was nearly the entire length of the church and for one horrifying instant he wondered if his prankster cousin, Emil Lapin, would be able to resist the temptation of stepping on it as Belle walked by. The flowing veil that covered her from the chest up was translucent enough to reveal the outline of what lay beneath, but still hid her golden hair and gorgeous face from his view._

_Escorting the bride was her father and patriarch of the Assassins' Guild, Marius Boudreaux. The massive man wore an immaculately pressed black suit that made him look as though he were attending a funeral rather than a wedding. His chin-length, graying brown hair was slicked back and his hard, ice blue eyes were all business as he walked his only daughter down the aisle. When he finally reached the front of the church, Marius gingerly lifted the veil and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. Turning to Remy, he extended her hand and simultaneously shot the younger man a glare cold enough to freeze the Dead Sea solid. _

_Ignoring him completely, Remy gazed down at the revealed form of his soon-to-be wife. Her flaxen locks tumbled about her bare shoulders in loose curls and_ _elegant, tear-drop pearl earrings hung from both ears with a matching choker wrapped around her slender neck. Lilac colored eyes shining with tears of joy stared up at him adoringly, painted red lips turned up into a broad smile when he brought one of her delicate, lightly tanned hands to his lips and placed a lingering kiss upon her knuckles._

_The ceremony went off without a hitch—which was saying something since the entire congregation was comprised of Thieves and Assassins who'd been taught to hate each other with a passion since birth—and afterward the reception dinner was held at Remy's childhood home, the Thieves' Guild mansion. For the first time in over 300 years, Thieves and Assassins sat at the same dinner table, telling jokes and at least pretending to enjoy one another's company rather than grabbing the first available weapon and killing as many of their rivals as was humanly possible. _

_Remy was blissfully happy, he had a beautiful wife whom he loved more than life itself at his side and he'd just single-handedly brought an end to centuries of bloodshed. Life was as close to perfect as it was ever going to get for this thief. _

_But as with all good things in his life, it too would come to an end. And that end came in the form of a livid Julien Boudreaux. _

_Julien was Bella Donna's older brother whom Marius had forbidden to attend the ceremony because he vowed that he'd stop at nothing to ensure that the marriage wouldn't happen. Red-faced and wielding a sword, he stalked between the rows of white clothed tables toward Remy. The tip of the foil scraped along the cobblestone pathway behind him, a menacing screeching noise shadowing his every step. _

_Marius bolted upright, overturning his chair as he bellowed, "JULIEN! I forbade y' t' come here!"_

"_Non, pére! Y' tol' me I couldn' be at de weddin', y' didn' say not'ing 'bout after!" Julien retorted with a maniacal sneer as he marched closer to Remy. _

_A single nod from Marius was all the motivation needed to spur two of his trained killers to rise from their seats and detain Julien. The heavily-muscled men grabbed him from behind, wrapping their large arms around each of his to prevent him from attacking them instead of his intended target. Various expletives shouted in Cajun French erupted from his lips as he fought violently in their grasp. _

"_Julien, stop dis now! Y' are embarrassin' not only y'self, but Bella Donna as well!" Marius roared again, hoping that the mention of Julien's beloved sister might somehow diffuse this situation, but his son paid no heed to his words. If anything, the younger assassin only doubled his efforts to free himself._

"_Y' jus' allowed Belle t' marry dat filthy mutant t'ief an' y' say _**I'M**_ de embarrassment?" Julien spat the word "mutant" like it was acid as he glared murderously in Remy's direction. "I will not let dat enfant de pute ruin my sister's life!" he continued to rant, flinging one man off and sending him flying straight into a nearby table, reducing it to kindling upon impact. _

"_Je suis désolé, ma chère sœur," he began, casting a remorseless glance to the flabbergasted bride, "but t'day y' b'come a widow!" Julien screamed at the top of his lungs as he finally broke free of the other assassin's grasp and raced toward Remy. _

_The rogue assassin leapt onto the table and swiftly advanced on his new brother-in-law, the sharp metal tip of the sword in his hand primed to pierce the thief's heart. Remy brought his long legs up and kicked the table in front of him, intentionally turning his chair over backward with him still in it to evade Julien's attack. Unable to slow his momentum, Julien fell forward and the blade plunged into the heavily cushioned back of the chair just as Remy rolled out of it, narrowly avoiding what would've been a fatal blow. Remy sprang to his feet only to see Julien muttering curses as he planted his foot on the upturned seat and yanked his sword free of the chair back. _

_Remy immediately vaulted over the table with Julien hot on his heels as Thieves and Assassins alike merely gaped at the spectacle occurring right before their eyes. Many of them would've loved to join in and turn this day of happiness and love into a bloodbath, but for the sake of the Nonaggression Pact that the Guild leaders had finalized in the weeks prior to the wedding they remained seated. _

_While on any other day Remy would've relished the chance to publicly humiliate Julien in a fight, this was Bella's wedding day and he didn't want to ruin it by forcing her to watch her brother be carried away bruised and bleeding. So Remy resolved to go easy on Julien for her sake, even though he would love to thoroughly kick the arrogant __bâtard's__ ass both for what he'd said and for making such a scene on today of all days. Remy quickly sprinted away from the party and toward a nearby swamp, for fear that Julien might hurt someone else—namely Belle—in his blind quest to kill the mutant thief. _

_Once they were a safe distance from the party, Remy turned to face Julien. The enraged assassin instantly lunged at him, lashing out with a blow to the head, then thrusting the sword at his midsection. The thief easily dodged the first swing of the long blade, then ducked to avoid the next _

_Although Julien was indeed a talented assassin, he was way out of his league against the likes of Remy LeBeau, pride of the Thieves' Guild. Unlike Julien, Remy had grown up on the streets of New Orleans, stealing whatever he could and duking it out with other street urchins just to see the light of another day. Then the young pickpocket had been taken under the wing of the patriarch of the legendary Thieves' Guild and trained from the tender age of 10 to move with all the grace and precision that his future profession would require. The combined knowledge of his life's experiences had molded the young mutant thief into an exceptional fighter; so while most people would be terrified of facing an assassin, Remy was merely cautious. _

_Besides, he knew Julien too well and had beaten the older man too many times when they were children to be frightened. The young assassin had always been short-tempered and Remy had always been able to use that to his advantage by taunting him until Julien acted rashly out of anger and practically handed him the victory. _

"**If yo' opponent is o' choleric temperament, seek t' irritate him,"**_ Remy quoted silently from memory with a broad grin (1). _

_But he was still attempting to follow his mental promise not to hurt Julien too badly, so the plan would be to simply frustrate his brother-in-law until the assassin exhausted himself and gave Remy the opportunity to disarm him. That unfortunately meant no powers, but that wasn't a problem. Remy didn't need his mutant abilities to beat Julien._

**Dis is gonna be fun**_, Remy thought, stifling a chuckle and simultaneously sidestepping another swipe of the sword at the last possible second. _

_The fight quickly fell into a predictable rhythm; Julien would rush him, and Remy would maneuver out of the way just in time. And with every intended hit and miss, the assassin grew increasingly incensed and allowed his anger rather than his training to dictate his moves, resulting in wild, erratic strikes that were even less difficult for Remy to avoid than the previous ones. _

**Wish I had one o' dose bull-fightin' capes**_, Remy mused idly, planting his hands on Julien's shoulders and leap-frogging over his brother-in-law's head as he thrust the rapier at his chest. _

_Remy's lips curled into a humored smirk as he finished the move by kicking Julien squarely on his tailbone, sending him careening forward. Growling through clenched teeth, the assassin turned and hastily swung the blade toward Remy, who spun out of the way with obscene ease. Julien leapt at Remy, bringing his knee up mid-air and aiming it at the thief's chin. Remy flung himself out of the way with a back flip, landing in a crouched position a few feet away, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He balanced perfectly on the balls of his feet with his elbows resting upon his knees and his hands casually hanging between them. Raising one hand, he waved Julien forward._

**Dat's it, come on, come an' get me**_, Remy silently urged._

_Snarling in pure frustration, Julien took the bait and raced toward Remy once again, hauling the blade up over his head, intending to cleave the smirking thief in half._

**Parfait**_, Remy thought as he quickly flopped onto his rear end as Julien advanced on him. _

_He caught the assassin in the chest with his feet, lifting him up off the ground before catapulting him away as Remy rolled back onto his shoulder blades and pushed off with his hands for added force. Julien soared through the air then landed in an undignified tangle of arms and legs a few feet away. By the time the assassin managed to extricate his limbs from one another then shove himself to his feet, Remy was already standing with his arms crossed over his chest waiting for him. _

_The thief casually removed the bowtie from his neck and flung it away then unfastened his top collar button. Wearing a smirk that would give the devil himself a chill, Remy took off his tuxedo jacket and turned it so that the black silky lining was facing Julien. He stood with one arm outstretched and his hand holding the jacket open out to his side while the other grasped the opposite end of the collar in a flawless imitation of a matador's pose._

_Ruffling the jacket at Julien, he called mockingly, "Toro!" _

_Remy saw Julien's gray eyes flash with anger at the thief's cavalier approach to a duel to the death and the thief was almost unable to keep his poker face in place at that moment. The expression Julien wore was absolutely priceless; the vein in his temple throbbing to the point that it looked as though it'd explode momentarily and his jaw clenched so tightly, Remy was certain the assassin would chip a tooth before this was all over. Reversing his grip on the hilt of the rapier, Julien darted toward him, swinging the sword sideways in a wide arc as though it were a sickle. _

"_Olé!" Remy shouted sardonically, dodging Julien's approach and flinging the jacket in the assassin's face as he nimbly danced away._

_Angrily ripping the garment out of his line of sight, Julien spun back to face Remy, the hatred he felt for the thief almost palpable in the air around them._

_Remy simply raised one eyebrow at the man as if to say, _**I know y' hate me, so what? Y' gonna do somet'ing 'bout it? **

_Julien ran at him one last time, suddenly swinging the sword at Remy from one side and then another. Remy jerked his body quickly to the right and then the left, causing Julien to hit nothing but air. Growling like an angry pit bull, Julien thrust the sword toward the middle, hoping that by some miracle he might catch the cocky thief by surprise._

_Suppressing a laugh, Remy stepped effortlessly out of the way of the ill-aimed blow to his chest, then slammed his elbow into the arm that was wielding the sword, knocking it to the ground. He promptly followed that strike up by smashing his fist right into Julien's face. As Julien collapsed on the grass from the force of the blow, Remy deftly plucked the sword off the ground. He didn't intend to use it, he just figured Julien would be less apt to continue this fight unarmed. Protectively cradling his now bleeding nose, Julien glared at Remy as he maneuvered himself into a crouched position. Flashing Remy a bloodstained grin, he reached into his wrist-gauntlet and pulled free a long dagger. Chuckling derisively he stood, the blade glinting menacingly in the late afternoon sunlight. _

_Even though Jean-Luc had insisted that he learn to use all manner of weapons in combat situations, Remy never did like sharp pointy objects, which was one of the reasons he favored a staff as his weapon of choice. But he'd left his collapsible bo staff upstairs in his bedroom because he couldn't fathom why he'd possibly need it today, so he was now stuck defending himself with a sword that was much sharper than he would've liked. Or he could go up against Julien empty handed, but against a dagger his margin for error would be much less in a fight that'd undoubtedly get even more up close and personal. _

**Not much choice here… **___Remy thought as he brought the sword up in front of him and moved into a defensive stance._

_Both men circled one another cautiously, their bodies tense in anticipation of the inevitable attack. Julien cracked first and leapt at the thief with a loud battle cry. The metal blades collided with a harsh, discordant screech and a shower of sparks as Remy deflected Julien's attack with his commandeered sword. Julien pushed the point of his blade down toward Remy's exposed fingers, hoping to at least nick him. Remy summoned all his strength and shoved Julien away before the larger man could cut him. _

_Julien immediately dove at him again, rapidly striking at him from different points, making it nearly impossible for even someone as skilled as Remy to avoid every hit. Eventually the thief miscalculated, and Julien took full advantage of his momentary lapse in judgment. _

_He struck at Remy's right shoulder, which the thief easily blocked, but then Julien quickly dropped the blade, allowing it to fall into his other hand rather than pushing against Remy as he had every other time they locked weapons. Before Remy could react and get out of the way, the assassin had already darted forward and sunk the dagger into the left side of his abdomen. Remy had managed to just barely twist his body in the opposite direction, attempting to lessen the blow, when he felt the cold metal bite deeply into his flesh then glance off one of his ribs. _

"_REMY!" Belle's voice screamed._

_It was then that Remy noticed the crowd of Thieves and Assassins that'd gathered around them, all watching with varying degrees of interest. The Assassins couldn't hide their satisfaction at the fact that he was injured, while the Thieves simply stared at him apprehensively. Remy's eyes locked on Belle as she struggled through the crowd toward them. Just as she broke through the sea of bodies, a thickly-muscled arm clad in black fabric wrapped itself around her waist and prevented her from moving any closer. Marius pulled his daughter to his chest as she fought against him, trying desperately to go separate her brother and her husband._

"_Non Belle, y' goin' in dere would only cause more harm dan good, __chérie__. Y' better off over here," Marius stated in a voice so calm it sent a shudder straight down Remy's spine._

_If Remy didn't know any better, he might think that Marius actually didn't care if Julien killed him. Belle continued to resist Marius' attempts to keep her there, and for once Remy agreed wholeheartedly with the older man. He fixed his blazing eyes on Belle's own deep blue irises and silently urged her to do as her father told her._

**Listen t' him, p'tite. Don' wan' y' t' get hurt, **___Remy thought as he backed up his unspoken request with the slightest fraction of his mutant charm abilities._

_Belle instantly relaxed in her father's arms, but continued to watch the two men in the middle of the crowd anxiously. _

_Julien apparently tired of no longer being the center of attention and twisted the dagger that was still buried within the side of Remy's abdomen to bring him back to the situation at hand. A low growl erupted from Remy's throat, his entire body tensing at the agony Julien elicited with a mere flick of his wrist._

_Julien almost gleefully yanked the blade out a moment later, relishing the stunned look of pain that still resided on Remy's usually jovial visage. Remy stumbled backward, his left hand clamping down on the thin abrasion near the bottom of his ribcage. He could feel hot blood soaking through the fabric of his white dress shirt as he clenched his jaw against the throbbing ache that reverberated throughout his entire being with every little movement he made. Julien held up the bloody dagger, a cruel sneer hitching his lips up on one side, and bared his teeth at the thief._

"_So y' mutants bleed red after all… Well, lessee if we can't get some more blood outta y', shall we (2)?" Julien goaded as he moved closer to Remy once again._

_And just like that the tide of the battle turned. Suddenly Remy was on the defensive and the assassin had claimed the upper hand. That one little slip up of Remy's had given Julien back his confidence, and he was now fighting like the assassin he'd been trained to be. That wound was like blood to a shark in the water, and he was single-mindedly pursuing Remy now that he knew the mutant thief wasn't truly as infallible as he'd seemed. Attacking swiftly and without warning, then taking his time as he circled his opponent looking for another weak spot, Julien reveled in his newfound dominance._

_Deciding that going back on the offensive was the only way he was going to make it out of this alive, Remy abandoned his earlier promise to not hurt Julien as well as the submission to the agony he felt from the sluggishly bleeding wound in his side. Standing to his full height and hissing in a breath quickly as a twinge of pain washed over him, Remy fixed his burning glare on the assassin. Julien smirked at him and mockingly beckoned him to come closer by waggling the dagger at him. Clenching his jaw shut and grinding his teeth to block out the shocks of pain still coursing through him, Remy started toward his brother-in-law with the sword gripped resolutely in his free hand._

_Growling against the agony, Remy attacked, swinging the sword down toward Julien's chest. The assassin parried with the smaller blade of his dagger, then aimed a kick at Remy's injured side. Remy anticipated the blow a second before it came and hastily rammed the hand that'd been stemming the blood flow to his side into Julien's own ribcage twice, knocking the breath out of the assassin and sending him staggering away. Julien glared at the mutant thief as he doubled over, trying desperately to catch his breath. He hadn't expected Remy to be able to use his left arm to attack him, and that'd given the thief the opening he needed to strike first. _

_Surprisingly, punching Julien had actually caused Remy more harm than good. Almost the instant he completely extended his arm, he felt the wound to his side tear and gape larger. Remy immediately replaced his hand on the wound, staunching the bleeding once again as he blinked away the tears springing to his eyes at the intensified pain now emanating from the open laceration. He drew in desperate amounts of precious oxygen via shallow, ineffectual pants as his entire face contorted into a wince. _

_His own blood was a warm viscous fluid that poured into the crevices between his fingers, coating them in the sticky substance. His shirt was plastered to his torso with a mixture of sweat and drying blood, that concoction along with the natural humidity of a mid-summer afternoon in the swamps of Louisiana making him lightheaded. Remy could barely coordinate his feet to keep himself standing, let alone continue fighting. His fatigue didn't go unnoticed by Julien, who was still hunched over, struggling to even his own breathing out. Taking one last deep gulp of air then standing to his full height, Julien smirked at his opponent's distress and moved closer. _

_Believing victory to be within his reach, the assassin recklessly sprinted toward Remy, thrusting his dagger at the injured thief's chest for a killing blow. Julien crashed into Remy mid-stride, tackling him and sending them both sprawling into the grass until Julien slammed Remy down onto the ground…hard. Remy let out a startled cry of pain as the back of his head smacked into the ground, but more so because of the sharp twinge that lanced through his left hand. Turning his head to the side, he discovered the source of his pain. _

_Julien's dagger had pierced completely through his palm, pinning it to the ground below. Fresh blood bubbled to the surface and pooled around the metal blade still submerged in the palm of his hand. When Julien had run at him, Remy raised the hand that was covering his side in an attempt to deflect the dagger aimed toward his chest, but in the ensuing struggle Julien must've stabbed his hand instead. _

_Remy glared up at Julien as he tried to formulate some way to push him off and not allow his brother-in-law to strike him again while he did so, but the assassin's eyes were locked on his own chest. He wasn't even paying attention to Remy. Curious as to what would have Julien so captivated at a time like this, Remy glanced down and his breath caught in the back of his throat at what he saw. _

_His sword was sticking halfway out of Julien's chest. _

_Belle clamped both hands over her mouth. _

_Marius released his hold on her and stared dumbly at the two men. _

_The rapier had punctured Julien's torso in the center of one pectoral at an angle, then exited his back in between his scapula and spine. Remy could clearly see the tip of the sword just over Julien's left shoulder, the metal blade completely coated in a slick, dark red, almost black liquid. A gurgle emanated from the assassin's mouth as he choked on the blood welling up in his throat. All color drained from Remy's face as he stared at Julien incredulously. Julien's shaking hands wrapped around the hilt of the sword as crimson blood trickled down the blade and dripped onto Remy's shirt. The droplets soaked into the pristine white fabric, staining it in scarlet patterns that resembled the slowly unfurling petals of a blood red rose._

_Gray eyes slowly rose to meet the red-on-black ones staring fixedly at the assassin. Remy watched in quiet terror as various emotions flitted across Julien's face: confusion, denial, fear, and sadness. Finally the first wave of pain overtook the adrenaline in his system and Julien's face contorted in agony as blood dribbled down his chin. When he next opened his eyes that eerily calm expression of realization dominated his features as he stared blankly at Remy. _

_Remy could only gape at Julien helplessly as the familiar sequence of emotions common to someone about to die played upon the assassin's face. After all, this wasn't the first time the thief had watched as a person died right before him._

**Non, s****'il vous plaît de Dieu, non… ****Not again, **_Remy thought as the memories filled his mind._

**XXX**

**Wide brown eyes set in a small tanned face stared up at him in horror as the boy's lips screamed his name. Tiny fingers stretched out toward him, tear-filled eyes pleaded with Remy to save him. To protect him as he always had before.**

**XXX**

**Bright blue eyes gazed out from a beautiful porcelain face and wisps of long brown hair whipped across her pale cheeks as gravity pulled her farther away from him. Even as realization dawned on her face that she was as good as dead, this woman that he'd used for his own purposes continued to look lovingly upon him. **

**XXX**

_Remy's freezing cold fingers released their hold on the hilt of the sword as the faces of his own ghosts appeared before his mind's eye. The instant Remy let go of the rapier, Julien fell to the side like a marionette whose strings had just been cut and rolled over onto his back, driving the sword up and into his chest. A feeble cry of pain tumbled from his lips as he clutched at the bloody blade sticking straight up in front of him. Belle suddenly let out a hysterical shriek and raced toward Julien. _

_Remy reached the trembling fingers of his right hand to the dagger. Gripping it firmly, he pulled as quickly as possible while trying to keep the blade straight as he removed it from his left hand so as to not injure himself further. His mouth stretched open in a silent scream of pure agony as he carefully extracted the dagger from his flesh, a sickening sucking sound accompanying its removal. Remy instantly dropped the small blade onto the spongy earth below, panting heavily as the aftershocks of the most excruciating pain he'd ever experienced flowed through him._

_Remy turned onto his knees then pushed himself to his feet using his good hand, dazedly making his way over to where Julien and Belle were huddled together on the ground. _

"_Julien? Julien, look at me! Y're gonna be fine, okay?" Belle spoke in a wavering voice, her clean white dress forgotten as she knelt on the muddy grass beside her brother. _

_Her hands flitted over Julien's sweat-slick face as she tried desperately to prevent him from losing consciousness. Julien's own hands grasped the sword and weakly pulled at it, only succeeding in moving it about half an inch and causing more blood to gush out of the wound. _

"_Non! Leave dat alone!" Belle cried as she placed her satin and lace clad hands over the wound on either side of the long blade._

_Remy had only gotten about a foot closer to Belle and Julien when he heard Marius' enraged voice shout, "Vous bâtard! Vous AVEZ ASSASSINÉ mon fils!"_

_The man strode toward him, furious blue eyes boring into him as the Assassins' leader drew back his fist and aimed it at Remy's face. The thief made no move to defend himself, nor did he try to explain to Marius that it was an accident. That he never intended to hurt Julien, or any of the others before him. But deep down Remy wanted to be hit, he wanted to suffer for all the pain he'd caused to others—albeit unintentionally—so he just stood there. _

_Seconds before Marius' fist could make contact with his face, the Creole assassin known as Gris Gris grabbed Marius' outstretched arm and began hauling him backward. Marius struggled against the large young man as he pulled him away from Remy. Gris Gris muttered an apology in advance for his actions to the patriarch of his Guild then maneuvered Marius' arm behind his back, applying sufficient pressure to keep it in place and to cause Marius enough pain so that he wouldn't try to pull away again._

_Remy watched impassively as Marius was taken away and Tante Mattie bustled past him toward the Boudreaux_ _children. Belle's beautiful face was streaked with tears and her voice broke when she turned those watery eyes up to Tante and begged for the first time in her life, "Help him…please."_

_The older woman pried Belle's bloodstained hands away from the wound and knelt down to survey the damage to Julien's chest. Her brown eyes widened for an instant before she regained her composure and tossed a glance over her shoulder to the idle Assassins standing around behind her._

"_Get him upstairs, quickly!" Tante commanded in a voice that left no room for questions._

_The entire crowd jumped at the sudden shout and three Assassins immediately stepped forward. Two crouched on the ground on either side of their fallen comrade and the other knelt beside Julien's legs. _

"_Be careful wit' him an' don' jar dat sword none, else y'll hurt him worse," the Cajun mystic advised as she rose to her feet and pulled Belle up with her. _

_Gently working their hands beneath the limp body, they lifted him off the ground with Tante barking orders every step of the way and Belle following closely behind them, the front of her wedding dress covered with splotches of blood and dirt. _

_Marius watched as his son was carried away from him, the hilt of the sword still visible above the heads of the men that moved his lifeless body to the house. The assassin glared at Remy and jerked toward him yet again, but Gris Gris held him firmly in place. Jean-Luc stepped forward from the crowd with a stunned Henri and wide-eyed Mercy right behind him. Remy could feel his father's calculating green eyes rake over him, calmly appraising his soiled and bloody appearance. _

_The demon-eyed thief hadn't moved from his spot and stood with his hands out to either side of his body, both coated with his own blood and Julien's. Crimson fluid poured from the hole in the palm of his left hand, flowing quickly down his fingers and dripping to the ground below. The wound to his side had stopped bleeding, but threatened to gush once more with any sudden movement. _

_Jean-Luc turned to his biological son and daughter-in-law then stated coolly, "Henri, Mercy, take Remy upstairs an' get him cleaned up, s'il vous plaît." _

_Henri nodded and removed a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his own tuxedo jacket as both he and Mercy started toward Remy._

_Remy was vaguely aware of Mercy lifting his right arm gently and placing it around her shoulders as Henri hastily bound his injured palm in the handkerchief. Henri then positioned his arms around Remy's left side, carefully supporting him lest he faint from blood loss, but remained cautious of causing any abrupt movement to his brother's injury. Remy vacantly allowed them to guide him along, still disbelievingly ruminating on the events that'd lead to this moment._

"_Jean-Luc! De Pact is now null an' void! Yo' 'son' has defiled it, jus' as he does everyt'ing else he touches! Mon fils hovers on de edge o' life an' death an' it is HIS fault, I demand retribution!" Marius screamed as he fought against Gris Gris hold once more._

_Unperturbed by the assassin's outburst, Jean-Luc responded evenly, "Marius, go be wit' yo' son. Gris Gris' expertise would be better served by helpin' Mattie rather dan keepin' yo' temper in check for y'. Y' an' I will discuss de Pact later, it can wait till t'ings have calmed down a bit."_

_Marius reluctantly relaxed and Gris Gris released his hold on him, but remained nearby as though he expected to be forced to seize his leader once again. The patriarch of the Assassins' Guild glared at Jean-Luc then turned on his heel and marched in the direction his Assassins had carried Julien with Gris Gris a few steps behind. Remy managed to glance over his shoulder at Jean-Luc, the expression on his father's face remained as unreadable as ever. Tiredly, the mutant thief hung his head and limped along as Henri and Mercy helped him across the expansive grounds toward the mansion. _

_Jean-Luc watched dispassionately as both his sons moved steadily away from him. He heaved a massive sigh and dropped his head into his hands when they disappeared behind the backdoor of the house. Fine lines of worry creased his forehead and he grimaced at the memory of the tormented expression that'd appeared in his adopted son's eyes on a day that should've been filled with nothing but happiness. The leader of the Thieves' Guild couldn't help but blame himself for this. He'd been the one to urge Remy to marry Bella Donna, not because he knew his son loved the girl—even though Remy did—but rather for the greater good of the Guilds. He'd selfishly sold his son's life for the betterment of friends and enemies alike, and now Remy was going to pay for Jean-Luc's actions with his own blood._

_Tears sprang to his eyes at the mere thought of watching the boy he'd come to love as his own son die for the sake of a peace that was fragile at best to begin with. Angrily blinking the drops away before they could trail down his tanned face, Jean-Luc set his jaw and purposefully strode toward his home. He was _**not**_ going to let that happen, no matter what he'd save Remy from the hell he'd so eagerly placed him in._

**XXX**

"_Mercy, get de door would y'?" Henri grunted once they reached the first room they found at the top of the stairs._

"_Got it," Mercy replied as she swung the door open wide and the trio maneuvered in, then moved over to the large bed in the center of the room._

_Henri and Mercy gently sat Remy on the edge of the bed and aided the injured thief in staying upright. Mercy gingerly untucked Remy's shirt then lifted the hem to get a look at the wound to his side, but the fabric stubbornly clung to his flesh. Applying more force as she pulled the shirt away from Remy's bloodstained and sweat-soaked torso, the garment finally peeled away—taking newly formed scar tissue with it and eliciting a hiss of pain from her patient as she did so. Worried brown eyes flitted to blazing red ones, then examined the gash that ran along her brother-in-law's ribs. At first glance all Mercy saw was a congealed mess of dry encrusted blood and raw flesh that oozed fresh crimson fluid. _

"_Henri, grab a towel from de bathroom," Mercy instructed as she inspected the wound, trying to mentally gauge its depth and the extent of the damage that'd been done._

_Henri practically dove into the adjoining bathroom and reappeared seconds later with a fluffy white towel in hand. Mercy lifted Remy's shirt higher and placed the soft cotton fabric firmly against the cut. Remy clenched his jaw shut when another dull throb zigzagged through him at the contact and pointedly stared straight ahead at the wall over Mercy's shoulder._

"_Remy? Remy?" Mercy called, placing her hand on his cheek and directing his gaze to her._

"_I need y' t' keep pressure on dis while Henri an' I go get y' de first-aid kit an' some clean clothes, okay?" she asked once she had his attention._

_Remy nodded and placed his uninjured right hand over the towel, applying pressure as she'd requested. Henri and Mercy exited the room a minute later, leaving Remy alone. As he sat there his eyes trailed over to his free hand atop the bedspread, staining the fabric scarlet with his blood…and Julien's. Suddenly the all-encompassing desire to wash his hands came over him. He needed to get that blood off of him, right now. _

_Gingerly pushing himself up off of the bed, Remy staggered into the bathroom and twisted the hot water knob as far as it'd go. He smoothly removed the towel from his side so that he could clean both hands, but as he placed the stained cotton fabric down onto the porcelain sink he noticed for the first time just how much blood was on his hands. _

_The blood had for the most part dried and was now a rust-colored, sticky substance that entirely coated both his hands from the tips of his fingers all the way to his palms. Just the mere sight of someone else's blood on his hands—this time literally—was causing his stomach to churn and his heart to race as more memories he would've rather left forgotten reemerged. He thrust his hands underneath the scalding flow of the faucet to drown his thoughts out, wincing as the too hot water made contact with his broken flesh beneath the flimsy barrier of Henri's handkerchief. _

_With angry motions Remy grabbed a bar of soap and rapidly worked up a lather, furiously cleaning away every trace of his brother-in-law's blood while scraping his own flesh raw with the effort. He ignored his own discomfort and rinsed away the thick bubbles from his hands, grimacing when he could still see specks of blood caked beneath his fingernails. He fumbled for the soap again and began digging underneath his fingernails to remove the stubborn fragments. _

_Remy could feel his breath quickening as he continued his single-minded quest to destroy every trace of his latest sin, but with every move he made to erase what he'd done, he saw Julien's face all the more clearly in his mind. The way he'd looked at Remy as his own blood poured out of the hole in his chest and from his mouth… _

_Waves of revulsion crept over the thief and a thin sheen of sweat broke out over his forehead as he continued washing his hands. _

**You killed him.**

_The thought came unbidden from deep within the recesses of his mind as he watched the swirling pink water form miniature whirlpools in the sink before disappearing down the drain._

**His blood will always be on your hands, no matter how many times you try to wash it away, it will always be there. Just like Etienne… Just like Genevieve… Only this time you were the one to actually get your hands dirty. There is no one else to blame but you… You are a murderer, Remy LeBeau.**

_The voice taunted as he hunched over the sink, gripping the cool porcelain sides in both hands as bile rose up into his throat._

**It felt different this time, didn't it? With the others you didn't really perform the act of killing them, you just happened to be the cause of it. But with Julien, you got the best seat in the house this time. You got to see it all… The look on his face, the way his blood dripped down onto you, marking you out undeniably as the one who killed him… The smell; that thick, fetid metallic scent…**

_That last bit was the final straw and Remy retched into the sink, emptying the contents of his stomach. He stood vomiting until there was nothing left in his stomach to bring up, but he still heaved dryly, his abdomen clenching painfully as he wobbled on unsteady legs. _

**He is dead because of you, and there is nothing you can do about that. Wash your hands all you want, some things don't go away no matter how hard you scrub… The truth will always be there, just below the surface…killer.**

_Remy's already tenuous grip on the sink slackened and his knees buckled underneath him as he passed out, sending him sprawling onto the tile floor below just as Mercy and Henri returned to the room. The last thing Remy consciously knew before the darkness claimed him was the high-pitched scream that erupted from Mercy as he collapsed on the floor with his head and shoulders sticking out from the bathroom._

**XXX**

_Eyes with bleary crimson irises set against jet-black sclera slowly opened then flickered over to the presence he instinctively knew was at his left side. All he found was a blond blur. Blinking rapidly to allow his unique eyes to focus, Remy discovered Mercy sitting in a chair beside the bed he was laid out on, diligently stitching up the gash in his side. His torn shirt had been removed and lay in a dirty, wrinkled heap on the floor. On the nightstand there was a bassinette with a bloodstained washcloth hanging halfway out of it. The first-aid kit was open, its contents scattered over the bedspread beside him. Mercy hadn't even noticed that he was awake and continued to gently guide the needle and thread through his skin, slowly and carefully sealing the wound securely shut. _

_Remy focused on the slight stabs of pain whenever she poked the needle into the first few layers of his skin, then the odd sensation of the thread passing through the outer tissue and dragging—there strangely was hardly any pain evoked by this action—across the raw flesh beneath. He watched Mercy casually as she attentively worked on his injuries. Finally feeling his gaze, his sister-in-law looked up. The blond former assassin gave a slight jump, then leaned toward him, concern creasing her brow._

"_How y' feelin' now? Y' was burnin' up when Henri an' I found y' on de floor," Mercy began as she reached for the washcloth and dipped it into the bassinette, wrung it out, then placed it upon his forehead._

_The cool fabric felt wonderful against his overheated flesh, and his eyes closed of their own volition. _

"_Y' jus' about gave Henri a heart attack passin' out like dat. I had t' send him off somewhere else b'cause he was pacin' so much dat he was startin' t' make me jumpy," Mercy added with a small smile making its way onto her lips._

_A humorless chuckle tumbled past Remy's lips for her benefit before he winced as the new stitches pulled._

"_Be careful!" Mercy chided as she pressed her hands against his side gently. "I jus' now put dose in, don' y' go an' pull 'em out jus' so I can do 'em all over again."_

_Remy smirked at the obvious irritation that laced her tone as she picked back up the needle and thread then moved to finish stitching up his side. _

_Just as she had the needle poised to puncture his flesh again, she stopped and regarded him apprehensively. "Do y' wan' somet'ing for de pain now dat y're awake?"_

"_Non, 's not dat bad. Jus' go ahead an' get it done, y' know Remy can't stay still for very long," he responded with some of his usual humor as he removed the now lukewarm washcloth from his forehead and dropped it back into the bassinette._

_Mercy smiled and went back to work with the needle and thread. Remy busied himself with inspecting his hands while she finished closing up the wound in his side. His hands were clean. There wasn't a trace of blood anywhere, not between his fingers, or underneath his fingernails. Mercy must've washed his hands for him. Part of him was grateful, but the rest of him was strangely disturbed that she'd taken it upon herself to do that for him. He should've had to clean up his own mess, not Mercy. Glancing at his injured hand he saw that Henri's handkerchief was gone. In its place was clean, white gauze wrapping all the way around his palm and the back of his hand. Mercy must've sanitized his hands so that she could stitch up the cut in his palm without giving him an infection. _

_Remy flexed the fingers of his left hand, feeling the tiny jolts of pain that shot up his arm as he did so. His hand was a little stiff and his fingers moved sluggishly, but he could at least feel everything. Hopefully that meant there was no long term damage to his bones or nerves. Without his hands, Remy would be practically useless as a thief. _

_Guilt hit him squarely in the chest like a Mac truck at his thoughts. Here he was thinking about his own future when Julien was dying, or could already be… Remy didn't even allow himself to finish the thought._

_He turned to Mercy, who'd just finished the final stitch and was cutting the excess thread away, and asked, "How's Julien?"_

_Mercy's wide brown eyes stared into worried red ones, before dropping suddenly to her hands. "I dunno. I've been in here wit' y' pretty much de whole time. Henri might know. Lemme wrap some gauze 'round yo' stomach, den I'll go check, okay?"_

_Remy shook his head and began to push himself up, teeth digging into his lower lip as the stitches strained against his movement. _

"_What did I jus' get finished tellin' y'?" Mercy yelled as she planted her hands on his shoulders and stopped him from moving._

"_Look, jus' b'cause y' ain't dat badly wounded, don' mean y' can be up traipsing 'round like not'ing's wrong! Y' been stabbed. TWICE! Now y' gonna keep yo' ass right where it is till I get finished wit' dis, __comprenez__?" she demanded, her usually warm brown eyes narrowing with anger._

_Remy knew better than to argue with Mercy at this point and nodded in agreement. The blonde accepted his gesture with a sharp nod of her own and an audible huff of frustration. Picking up a new role of gauze from the bedspread, she told him to lift his arms so she could wrap it around the stitches in his side. He gingerly complied and sat quietly while Mercy wound the soft surgical dressing around his midsection. She secured it with white medical tape, then handed him the T-shirt and blue jeans that Henri had brought from Remy's bedroom._

_Mercy left the room a moment later, taking the bassinette with her, to give Remy some privacy to change his clothes. It only took him two full minutes and a dozen or so curses to change out of his dirty black slacks and into the faded jeans and black T-shirt. _

_He wanted to march straight to wherever Julien was and see with his own eyes if his brother-in-law was okay, but he was truly afraid of what he might find. So he kept himself busy with replacing the medical supplies that were spread out across the bed back into their proper place in the first-aid kit. He'd just closed the metal lid on the small white box when Mercy entered the room with Henri following closely behind her. The shorter thief strode directly toward him and enveloped him in a bear hug. Remy accepted the suffocating gesture for a moment then thumped his older brother on the back and wiggled his way out of Henri's grasp. _

"_Y' all right?" Henri asked with genuine concern knitting his brows together over his hazel eyes._

"_Other den de ribs y' jus' broke wit' dat hug, fine," Remy retorted with a smirk as he brushed his damp brown hair off his forehead._

_Henri's face flushed with embarrassment as he shoved his hands into his pants pockets and stared at the floorboards. Remy snorted amusedly then clamped his good hand around Henri's shoulder and playfully pulled him into a loose headlock._

"_Merci, for takin' care o' me. Both o' y'," Remy added as Henri gently wriggled out from under his arm. _

"_Je vous en prie, jus' try not t' scare de ole man so bad next time y' feel de need t' almost get y'self killed. Y' keep dis up an' I'm gonna go bald from de stress," Henri joked as he wrapped an arm around Mercy's shoulders._

"_Hate t' be de one t' break dis t' y', but Remy don' t'ink it's de stress dat's makin' yo' hair fall out," Remy shot back shrewdly as he hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and raised one eyebrow at his brother._

"_Hey!" Henri cried indignantly. _

"_Don' pay him no mind, __cher__. I like yo' hair jus' de way it is," Mercy purred as she fingered the short, spiky strands of Henri's brown hair. _

"_Merci, belle," Henri murmured into his wife's hair before planting a lingering kiss on her cheek._

_Mercy cast Remy a baleful glare over her husband's shoulder, prompting Remy to shrug in badly faked ignorance, but his eyes twinkled mischievously belying the innocent expression he wore. They both knew Henri was sensitive about his thinning hair, but Remy simply couldn't resist poking fun at his older brother to lighten the mood. That and he was jumping on every opportunity he could find to prolong the inevitable trip down the hall to meet his fate; was he a killer or was Julien going to be okay? The question played through his mind endlessly like a CD on repeat, and Remy wasn't altogether certain he wanted to know the answer. But deep down he needed to know the answer, despite whatever momentary respite was brought on by the relative bliss of his ignorance (3)._

"_Have y' heard anyt'ing 'bout Julien?" Remy blurted out suddenly, all the while keeping his gaze fixed upon the floorboards._

_The lighthearted mood of moments before abruptly plummeted the instant the words left his mouth. _

_Henri glanced down at Mercy anxiously. She gave him a slight nod of encouragement before turning her face into the warmth of his chest and closing her eyes. Henri cleared his throat loudly then licked his lips, his hazel irises darting toward Remy's but shifting off to the side at the last second so as to not look him directly in the eye—which Remy recognized as a sure sign of his brother being uncomfortable with a subject. _

"_Non, mon frère. Tante an' Gris Gris are in dere wit' him now, an' y' know dey be doin' everyt'ing dey can for him. He couldn' be in better hands," Henri finally replied, trying to infuse his voice with as much conviction as possible._

_Remy couldn't tell if his brother was trying to convince him or himself with that vote of confidence, but either way it wasn't working. What Henri had just told him only served to feed the growing unease swirling around in the pit of his stomach to the point that Remy suddenly marched past the still embracing couple and out into the hallway. He heard Henri call out to him, but he continued walking, his uncharacteristically heavy footfalls the only sound in the disconcertingly quiet hallway. He didn't know which room Julien was in, but he'd find him. He _**had**_ to find him. _

_Remy skidded to a stop when a door a few feet away brusquely opened and Marius strode out._

_The leader of the Assassins' Guild slammed the door shut behind him with enough force to rattle the hinges, if not rip them from the walls outright. He stepped forward, breathing heavily and scrubbing one hand across his face. Marius stopped dead in his tracks when he finally noticed Remy standing there. The older man's pale blue eyes bore into him and Remy could plainly see that Marius was fighting back the desire to attack him right then and there. The middle-aged assassin gave an audible huff, then turned on his heel, cursing under his breath as he stalked toward the staircase at the end of the hall and quickly descended to the first floor. _

_Remy allowed the breath he didn't even know he'd been holding to leave his lungs in a whoosh, then slowly moved toward the room Marius had just exited. He stared at the richly varnished wood of the heavy oak door for a moment, his heart pounding a fierce staccato in his chest as he reached for the decorated brass knob and turned it._

_The overwhelming smell of incense combined with a myriad of pungent herbs assaulted his nose the instant he opened the door. The room was lit solely by random clusters of white wax candles that cast iridescent shafts of light about the darkened room. The candles were of varying lengths with long streams of melted wax drizzling down off the sides in a slow progression to the hardwood floor below. In the dim light Remy could barely make out Gris Gris' massive form just beyond the doorway. The taller man—who sported rows of thick, gold adorned dreadlocks that fell well past his broad shoulders—stood with a long black cloth held out in his hands. Slowly, he stepped forward and placed it reverently over the large mirror that sat atop the bureau. His lips moved wordlessly as he did so, head bowed respectfully as he stood there praying mutely. _

_Tante was crouched before a wooden chest that rested at the foot of the large bed in the center of the room. Her eyes were closed as she rocked back and forth with her hands clasped together in front of her mouth, chanting an incantation feverishly into her cupped palms. Remy heard the light clacking sound emanating from her hands as she shook them, then watched as she dropped eight or so chicken bones onto the top of the chest a moment later, apprehensively leaning forward to stare at the pattern they made atop the wooden surface. She sat back with a grim expression tugging down the corners of her lips, eyes falling shut once more as a wrinkled hand reached for the tarnished gold crucifix she always wore around her neck. _

_Terror instantly welled up inside Remy. He knew exactly what Gris Gris and Tante had been doing. _

_Gris Gris covered the mirror because as a houngan, or voodoo priest, he believed that when someone died their spirit could get lost inside a mirror rather than moving on into the next world. _

_Tante was practicing a form of divination with bones from the ritual sacrifice of a rooster; reading the way in which they fell so as to gain some insight into Julien's ultimate fate and what help she might be able to provide._

_Remy's glowing red irises flew toward the bed that was enshrouded with a sheer, canopy mosquito net. Incense burners sat on the nightstand and cast long, ghostly tendrils of smoke into the air. A human skull sat on the edge of the night table, its gleaming white teeth sinisterly bared at him in an eternally twisted facsimile of a grin. The assassin who'd tried to kill Remy lay unmoving on the mattress with a cream-colored sheet drawn up to his bare chest and thick layers of gauze encircled his torso, but Remy could clearly see the glistening, dark splotches where blood had soaked all the way through them. _

_Julien's shoulder-length brown locks were plastered to his face and neck by the thin layer of sweat coating every inch of him that Remy could see. The young man lay upon the bed with his eyes closed and his arms outstretched. His face was blessedly devoid of any pained expression and looked so tranquil, that had Remy not known better, he would've thought Julien were simply sleeping. In fact the only clue to his true state was the sickly gray tint that the skin of his face and torso had taken on since Remy had last seen him. _

_Belle knelt on the floor beside him with her elbows balanced on the edge of the bed and her head held in her hands. Her shoulders heaved as she sobbed silently into her hands, the pale skin of her palms still stained with her brother's blood. _

"_Tante?" Remy croaked as he took a tentative step into the room._

_The Creole woman slowly stood, her fingers never leaving the cross around her neck as she did so, then turned toward him. Her dark brown eyes shined with unshed tears as she glanced at him._

"_Is he…?" Remy trailed off, unable to finish his question although he already knew the answer simply from Tante's saddened expression._

_His surrogate mother didn't reply, instead she bowed her head and walked past him. Tante Mattie slowly approached Belle, placing a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder when she reached her. "Belle?"_

_The blonde lifted her face from her hands at the sound of her name. The usually perfect, lightly tanned complexion of her face was blotchy and smeared with a combination of mascara and eyeliner from her time spent crying. She turned slowly to face the older woman, the flesh around her blue eyes swollen and bright red. _

"_Belle, c'mon get up offa dat cold floor, chile," Tante spoke in a warm voice, while giving the girl's shoulder a gentle squeeze. _

_Belle wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand then pushed herself to her feet using the mattress as leverage. "Don' worry 'bout me, Tante, it's Julien dat needs y' now." _

"_Belle, dere's not'ing more I can do for him… He gone, chérie. 'M sorry," Tante replied as tenderly as she could._

"_NO! Dere has t' be somet'ing else y' can do!" Belle cried, her desperation evident in each word. _

"_Belle, y' know dat if dere was anyt'ing more dat could be done for y' brother I'd do it, but dere's not'ing else t' do," Tante said calmly as she placed her hands on Belle's shoulders, trying to soothe the devastated girl that stood before her._

_Fresh tears sprang to the female assassin's eyes as she gazed up at the old Creole woman, her bloodstained hands clasping one another tightly before her chest. "Tante…please… 'M beggin' y', Julien…he…he can't be gone. He's strong, y' jus' gotta keep tryin'. Bring him back, I know y' can do it." _

_Tante hated to squash the hope she could see deep within Belle's eyes—hope that Julien could somehow survive this—but knew that she had to. It would only hurt the girl more in the end when she realized that her brother was never returning. _

"_Belle, I can't. Julien is gone. Him soul has moved on, chile," Tante stated quietly, her voice breaking as she spoke._

"_Den bring his soul back!" Belle shrieked caustically, slapping Tante's hands away as her piercing blue eyes fixed themselves angrily upon the older woman. "Y're a healer! Y' supposed t' be able t' help him!"_

"_Belle, when de soul has left de body o' natural causes dere is not'ing more dat can be done. Not'ing good, leastways. T' bring back de soul o' someone dat's already moved on…dat's dark magic. An' if I did do it, Julien wouldn' be de same. He wouldn' be yo' brother no mo', but somet'ing else…somet'ing evil. Now y' gotta let him go, chile. It was him time… Him at peace… (4)" Tante explained sternly, knowing that Belle was a breath away from all out hysteria._

_The female assassin locked her jaw as her eyes brimmed with tears. She'd always been stubborn and was accustomed to getting her way, so hearing that there was absolutely nothing that she or anyone else could do to save Julien was difficult for her to accept. _

_Remy, who'd watched the entire exchange in stunned silence, suddenly stepped forward and reached out to place one of his hands upon his wife's shoulder. _

"_Belle…I am so sorry…" he began as his fingertips touched the soft skin of her bare shoulder._

_The instant their flesh met, it was as though a switch had been flipped inside Belle's mind, she quickly turned and slapped him soundly across the face. Thoroughly unprepared for the blow, Remy's head jerked sharply to the side, his cheek stinging painfully from the forceful hit. When he turned back to face her, Belle's blue eyes bore into him like knives, but still shined with tears as her body shook with the potent combination of rage and grief. _

"_Don' _**you **_say dat! _**You **_don' get t' apologize for what y' done! Y' don' deserve my forgiveness! An' don' y' _**dare** _touch me!" she hissed at him, her chest heaving with the effort of restraining herself from attacking him._

"_Chère__…" he started again, but she flung herself at him, her fists slamming into his chest._

"_NO! Don' y' call me dat! Julien is dead b'cause o' you! It's all yo' fault! It should've been _**YOU!**_" she screamed as she pounded on the solidity of his chest, tears streaming down both sides of her face._

_Remy allowed her to take out her frustration on him, his face an expressionless mask. Only the first few hits actually hurt, and after that she was just barely making contact with him so he didn't really need to restrain her. But it was her words that got to him. He knew that Belle was upset about her brother, devastated really, and that whatever she said right now she probably didn't truly mean. But still, maybe she did mean it. _

_What if she hated him now? What if she could never forgive him for what he'd done, even though it'd been an accident? _

_Remy had no answers to these questions, so he just stood mutely with Belle exhaustedly slapping at his chest, a tremendous sob escaping her throat and transforming into a guttural howl of sadness. Finally she collapsed against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her lithe frame before she could slide onto the floor, hauling her back up his body and bringing her even closer to him. He rubbed her back in comforting circles and stroked her hair as she tried unsuccessfully to pry herself out of his embrace. After a few moments of fruitless struggling, Belle bowed her head into the warmth of his chest, sniffling and sobbing softly. _

_As he held her, Remy's mind was whirling around him. Julien was dead, Belle was an emotional wreck, and Marius was out for his blood. And as Belle herself had told him just moments earlier, it was all his fault. He deserved everything he'd gotten so far and much more. He had no right to ask Belle her forgiveness, even though Remy desperately wanted her to forgive him. But how could she?_

_Her husband had killed her brother right in front of her, how could life possibly get back to anything even remotely resembling normal after that? Over time she might come to terms with it and even get over it, but right now the wounds were too fresh, the pain too great to expect her to willingly accept his apology—regardless of how sincere it might be—and take comfort in his presence. Remy hoped that was true, but he doubted it. If the roles were reversed and it'd been Henri who died at Belle's hands, intentionally or accidentally, would he be able to forgive her? _

_Remy's brother mattered more to him than just about any other person on the planet, and he knew almost instantly that he'd hate any person that ever hurt Henri until his very last breath. Even if that person were Belle. Remy frowned at that revelation and tightened his arms around Belle's shoulders in response. He knew that it was now useless to ask for her forgiveness a second time, because if he could not forgive her had the situation been different, how could he possibly expect her to react any differently than he would? _

_He couldn't, and more importantly his very presence might hurt Belle more than anything else right now, so he nodded to Tante and reluctantly allowed the Creole woman to take his bloodstained bride away from him. Truthfully, it hurt like hell to let her go, but Remy would rather endure any kind of pain imaginable than subject the woman he loved to more suffering than he already had. So he stood alone in the gloom, glowing red irises following as she walked away from him, all the while fighting back the wetness that pooled around his dark eyes. _

**XXX**

_Marius stomped in the direction of Jean-Luc's study, somehow knowing that he'd find the Thieves' patriarch there. He barged into the room without bothering to knock, slamming the heavy door behind him. Jean-Luc stood next to one of the large bookcases that lined two walls of the room, a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid in hand. The thief glanced casually over at the livid man fuming just a few feet away and drained the contents of his glass in one gulp. He reached out for the bottle of Jack Daniels that sat on the small table beside him and refilled the tumbler. _

"_Julien is dead," Marius stated in a low voice._

_The glass froze halfway to Jean-Luc's lips and shook imperceptibly before the thief deposited it back on the table. He turned to Marius, his green eyes tired and face grim. "I am truly sorry for yo' loss, Marius."_

_Marius accepted the other Guild leader's sincere words with a sharp nod and looked away, holding back the tears that prickled behind his eyes. _

"_Y' know what dis means, Jean-Luc," Marius began as he turned back toward the other man. "Dis will destroy de Pact an' de Guilds will be back at war by sunrise unless we do somet'ing 'bout dis."_

"_I understand, Marius, but it's not dat simple," the thief replied around a sigh as he reached for his glass again._

"_De Pact is very clear, Jean-Luc: 'T' preserve de peace 'tween de Guilds, any form o' aggression will not be tolerated. Dose who violate de agreement pay a price equal t' dere crimes.' Don' see dat as bein' all dat ambiguous really," Marius retorted coldly, folding his thick arms across his equally wide chest._

_Jean-Luc glared at the assassin over the lip of the tumbler then downed half of its contents, wincing at the way the alcohol burned the back of his throat. "Remy will not be executed. I will not allow it," he declared sternly._

"_Dat's not yo' decision t' make. My son died b'cause o' him, de Pact says his life belongs t' me now, t' extinguish as I see fit," Marius shot back antagonistically. _

"_Non. Yo' son violated de Pact long b'fore Remy ever touched him. Julien came here t'day intendin' t' kill him, an' my son merely defended himself—dat's not against de Pact, so y' have no claim whatsoever on Remy," Jean-Luc argued calmly._

"_Y' may see it dat way, but de rest o' de Assassins don'…an' neither do I," Marius responded menacingly as he took a step forward. "De Assassins' Guild will not allow one o' its own t' die unrevenged."_

"_Remy will not die for dis; de Thieves' Guild will not allow dat," Jean-Luc said coolly._

_Marius growled in frustration and glared at Jean-Luc. The thief merely stared back at him, idly swirling the contents of his glass. _

"_Are y' willing t' see de Guilds go t' war again? T' endanger de lives o' family an' friends jus' t' protect a boy dat ain't even yo' own son? B'cause dat's what it'll all come down t'. Even if I denounce any violence against Remy, de Assassins will see him going unpunished as a slap in de face. Dey'll want revenge, an' dey'll seek it out in any way dey can," Marius announced in a forcibly calm voice as he stepped closer to Jean-Luc, his repressed anger still plainly written across his features. _

"_Jus' b'cause he ain't blood don' mean he ain't my son in every way dat matters," Jean-Luc murmured, planting one hand on the varnished wood surface of the small table and leaning into his arm, using it to support his weight._

"_Don' pull dat crap wit' me! We both know de _**real **___reason y' adopted de boy, an' it don' have anyt'ing t' do wit' y' paternal instincts, Jean-Luc. __De boy wit' de devil's eyes as is__ mentioned__ in de__ ancient__ texts… L'Diable Blanc (5)… __Y' took him in so dat he could fulfill de prophecies an' eventually unify an' lead de Guilds, but dere's no way dis side o' hell dat he's gonna do dat now, so why are y' still fightin' so hard?" Marius continued to press, a morosely amused grin pulling at his lips._

"_Dat may've been de reason I adopted him, but dat's not de only t'ing he is t' me now," the thief responded solemnly._

"_So y're willin' t' put yo' other son, by blood, in harms way for yo' adopted son?" the assassin questioned with a raised brow. _

"_Are y' threatenin' Henri?" Jean-Luc demanded in a dangerously low voice._

"_Non, I wouldn' do not'ing o' de sort. De only man whose life I seek is Remy's. But I can't guarantee dat people won' get hurt, on both sides, if y' don' honor de Pact," Marius retorted bitterly, the thinly veiled threat of both his words and tone slapping the Thieves' patriarch across the face._

_Jean-Luc heaved a labored sigh then downed the contents of his glass, slamming the empty tumbler down on the small table with more force than necessary. He strode over to the large bay window that overlooked the ruined party. The sun had set sometime after everyone had retreated into the mansion and now darkness began to creep over the world. Lightning bugs took to the skies, their positions revealed by the tiny pinpricks of green light that flashed low to the ground. The overturned tables, stained tablecloths, and abandoned dinners were just barely visible in the distance. The old thief took a deep breath then turned back to face the other man, hating himself for what he must now do, but knowing that it must be done to save the life of his son._

"_I propose a compromise, Marius. De life dat has already been lost is quite enough an' neither o' us want t' see any more o' our fellow Guild members die b'cause o' dis," Jean-Luc stated in his usual calm tone, effectively masking the torrent of emotions within him. _

"_Far as I can tell, Julien flagrantly disregarded de words o' his father an' patriarch an' interfered wit' a matter o' great importance t' both Guilds. He den attacked my son, attempting t' kill him. Now y' an' yours may not see his death as what it is, an act o' self-defense, but I do. No murder or act o' aggression occurred, at least not from my son, so we are not dealing wit' dat issue here. Julien's death was a great tragedy, but was not'ing more dan an accident. Dere is no need for vengeance here," the thief continued to explain, his voice unwaveringly strong and confident._

"_If y' t'ink y' can talk Remy's way outta dis y' are sorely mistaken, Jean-Luc LeBeau!" Marius shouted, seemingly insulted by the other man's utter dismissal of his claims._

"_I am merely stating de facts, Marius," Jean-Luc replied, waving one hand in a placating gesture. "I agree dat somet'ing must be done t' keep de Guilds from overreacting t' de situation an' gettin' into somet'ing dat will only cause more pain for everyone involved."_

_Marius regarded the thief skeptically, then pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest again before responding carefully, "'M listenin'."_

"_If Remy's presence here will incite de Guilds t' violence, which neither o' us want, an' I will not allow him t' be executed, dere is only one solution dat'll solve our problem. Remy must leave New Orleans," Jean-Luc declared as he slipped both hands casually into his pants pockets._

"_Banishment?" the assassin asked incredulously. "Y' would banish yo' own son?"_

"_If dat's what it takes t' preserve de peace, so be it," Jean-Luc confirmed grimly, a hint of emotion making its way into his voice as he spoke._

_A conspiratorial smirk twisted the corners of Marius' lips as he stepped forward. "De terms o' de banishment be thus: Remy must leave New Orleans by sunrise t'morrow an' never return t' dis city. Otherwise he will receive de full punishment under de Pact t' be carried out by de Assassins' Guild." _

_Marius extended one hand, waiting for Jean-Luc to accept his part of the deal. The thief didn't immediately move, nor did he argue the assassin's terms, he just stood there in quiet contemplation. After almost a full minute had gone by, Jean-Luc stepped forward and gripped Marius' proffered hand, shaking it firmly, cementing the deal and sealing Remy's fate. _

_To save the life of his son, Jean-Luc would send him away. In an attempt to ensure his safety, Jean-Luc was going to cast Remy out of the only real family the boy had ever known. It was entirely plausible that Remy might never understand why Jean-Luc did this. He might even hate his adopted father for it. But that was a risk Jean-Luc was willing to take if it meant that Remy would live. _

**XXX**

_Remy didn't know how long he stood in the darkened room just staring at Julien's corpse, wishing that the assassin would get up and proclaim all of this to be a sick practical joke that went too far. He'd watched silently as Gris Gris gently lifted the sheet up from Julien's chest and drew it over the fallen assassin's entire body. The older assassin had then slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him without so much as a backward glance at Remy. _

_Not long after Gris Gris left, the door cracked open casting a long triangle of bright yellow light into the otherwise pitch-black room. Henri and Mercy cautiously entered, flipping the light switch as they did so, giving Remy the excuse of being temporarily blinded to wipe at his eyes. He turned toward them a moment later, hoping that all evidence of his tears had been wiped away. _

"_Je suis désolé, mon frère. Tante tol' us 'bout Belle an' everyt'ing. Is dere anyt'ing y' need?" Henri asked, his voice practically dripping with compassion as he approached his younger brother._

_Now, Remy loved his brother and all, but if Henri tried to hug him again he was either going to have to punch him or throw up…or both, though hopefully not all at the same time. _

"_Non, dere's not'ing dat can be done," Remy muttered darkly._

"_Belle's jus' upset right now, Remy. Y' know she don' mean anyt'ing she said t' y', dat girl's been in love wit' y' since b'fore she had de trainin' wheels taken offa her bike. Dis ain't gonna change dat," Mercy supplied helpfully._

"_Y' didn' see de way she looked at me, Merc. I never seen her so mad, or so upset… An' dat's all my fault. I did dat t' her. T'ings ain't never gonna be right 'tween us now," Remy retorted forlornly as he brushed past the couple and stepped out into the hall._

_Remy heard Henri and Mercy start after him and he quickened his pace, hoping to beat them to his room and forego the sympathy speech he was certain the duo had prepared for him. He'd only gotten about a foot down the corridor when a large hand clamped down on his shoulder, halting his movement. Remy turned to find Gris Gris behind him, the Creole man's glassy, dark brown eyes focused on him gravely. _

"_Y' wanted downstairs, in yo' père's study."_

_The mutant thief suppressed a shudder at the inherently ominous feel of the man's deep, emotionless baritone voice. Gris Gris had always reminded him of an undertaker or maybe even the personification of Death—minus the cloak and scythe—and the present situation wasn't helping at all to change the way Remy saw him._

_Remy, Gris Gris, Henri, and Mercy walked into Jean-Luc's study less than five minutes later. The slow pace was mostly to accommodate for Remy's injured torso, but he neglected to tell them that he actually could move fairly well considering that he'd been stabbed just a little over three hours ago. However, Remy had a feeling that whatever this mysterious "meeting" would entail wasn't something he was going to like so, needless to say, he wasn't in any rush to get there. Thus, why he allowed them to treat him like an invalid for the time being. _

_Jean-Luc was seated in the plush leather chair behind his desk with his hands folded one atop the other on the wooden surface of the escritoire. Marius stood off to the thief's right side with his arms crossed over his chest and a very disconcerting smirk graced his drawn features. The sight was eerily similar to the poster for the film, __The Devil's Advocate__, which Remy felt couldn't be a more appropriate visualization given his present situation. A self-deprecating grin, that more closely resembled a grimace, twisted his lips as he stepped farther into the room._

"_Remy, please sit," Jean-Luc gestured to one of the overstuffed leather armchairs that resided before the large mahogany desk._

_Remy cautiously strode around the chair and gently maneuvered himself down into it, managing to only wince slightly as he did so._

"_How y' feeling?" Jean-Luc asked flatly._

_Remy glanced up at the detached tone of his adopted father's voice. Jean-Luc simply stared at him with glazed over green eyes that seemed to look through his son rather than at him and his lips drawn into a thin line beneath his neatly trimmed moustache. Remy didn't know what unnerved him more, his suddenly Stepford father or the fact that Marius was regarding him much like a starving cat would a blind mouse. _

"_Fine," Remy replied guardedly, keeping his gaze fixed on Jean-Luc because Marius was really starting to creep him out. "Y' called for me?"_

"_Yes, I did. As I'm sure y' know by now, Julien is dead," the Thieves' patriarch began, and for the first time since Remy entered the room Marius' face contorted with sadness, but then quickly reverted to his usual stony mask of indifference. "An' even though we all agree dat it was an accident, somet'ing must be done t' prevent de Guilds from destroyin' one another."_

"_What d' y' mean?" Remy questioned anxiously, already feeling the proverbial noose tightening around his neck._

"_What yo' père means," Marius callously answered for Jean-Luc, "is dat we've decided on a suitable punishment for y'."_

"_Punishment? Y' jus' said it was an accident!" Henri exploded, shoving his way past Gris Gris as he marched farther into the room._

_Both Jean-Luc and Remy merely sat unmoving in their respective chairs, sharing mirror image expressions of apathy. One forcibly controlling his emotions to spare himself pain, the other retreating within to steel himself for the fate he truly believed he deserved. _

"_Accident or not, a man is still dead. An assassin killed by a t'ief. Doing not'ing would only ensure more unnecessary death an' turmoil for both Guilds," Marius shot back, the insufferable smirk reappearing on his face. _

_Mercy lunged forward, snagging her husband's arm and holding tight to prevent him from going toe-to-toe with Marius. Henri glanced down at her pleading face, then folded his arms stiffly across his chest but continued to glare at the Assassins' leader murderously._

_Marius turned his attention back to Remy, puffed out his chest, and spoke with morose satisfaction, "Remy LeBeau, y' are henceforth exiled from yo' Guild as well as de city o' New Orleans for de remainder of yo' life. Y' have till sunrise t'morrow morning t' leave dis city an' never return, otherwise y' will suffer de punishment reserved for murderers under de Nonaggression Pact, execution, t' be carried out by de Assassins' Guild."_

_Remy tightly gripped the arms of his chair, jaw clenched firmly shut. It took all of his will power not to urge a kinetic charge into the soft leather beneath his fingertips and hurl the piece of furniture at Marius' smug face. His dark eyes glittered dangerously as he quickly shoved himself to his feet, delighting in the stab of pain the sudden motion elicited from his injured torso. He fixed his gaze resolutely on Marius, nodded sharply, shot his father an ice-cold glare, then turned and exited the room without a word._

**Dey wanted him gone, so be it,**_ Remy thought angrily as he strode up the stairs then down the hall to his bedroom. _

_He slammed the heavy oak door behind him, flung open the doors of his closet and began yanking clothes out, unceremoniously dumping them in a pile on his bed. He allowed his fury to drive his movements, using the jerky, unnecessarily forceful actions to relieve the burning rage within him._

_Julien's death had been an accident and they knew it! Yet they were kicking him out of the only real home and family that he'd ever known! Remy wasn't angry simply because of the blatant hypocrisy of that meeting, although he had every right to be, but rather because of the conflict raging within him. His mind and emotions were divided and so at odds that he had no idea what he was even feeling right now. A part of him totally accepted his fate, he'd killed a man and felt that he did deserve some sort of punishment for it. And simply being forced to leave New Orleans was more of a slap on the wrist than anything else, but another part of Remy wanted to march right back downstairs to his stoic father's study and demand to know why Jean-Luc was allowing this to happen. Why wasn't he fighting Marius tooth and nail on his son's behalf?_

_How could the man that claimed him as his own son just sit idly by and allow Marius to take Remy's life away from him? Julien had attacked _**him**_, not the other way around, and they were now treating Remy like he'd been the one premeditating murder. What the hell had they wanted him to do, just stand there and let Julien stab him to death?_

_Granted, Remy did truly feel remorse for unintentionally causing Julien's death, but he didn't understand how if everyone knew it was an accident why they wanted him to leave. He knew that there'd be Assassins, including Belle and Marius, that would blame him for the death. More so because of old grudges and prejudices than the fact that he'd killed one of their own in self-defense. And truthfully, Remy didn't give a damn what they thought. He'd been fighting with most of those Assassins since he was a child, so having them out for his blood wasn't anything new, but the prospect of Belle hating him did give him pause._

_His guilt at causing her so much pain weighed heavily on his shoulders and made his stomach cramp as though battery acid had been poured into it. Remy remembered in vivid detail the way her face had looked when he tried to comfort her. Tear-stained and so contorted with rage and sadness that she was hardly recognizable; but the worst part was the fact that it'd been the first time Belle had looked at him with hate in her eyes. Hate directed at him. Sure, Remy had seen her mad at him plenty of times, but this was different. This had been pure, unequivocal hatred. _

_Remy had done something that made her hate him and he feared that he could never change her feelings toward him. He wanted to believe what Mercy told him earlier and what the hopeful voice in his head said to be true, but deep down he knew he didn't. When Julien died, Belle's love for Remy may well have died with him. His shoulders slumped forward in consternation at his newest insight. Stuffing the remains of his righteous fury at Jean-Luc and Marius down into the morass of his emotions as far as he could, he pulled a green military-inspired duffel bag down from the top shelf of his closet and began shoveling his clothes in._

_Nearly half an hour later, Remy was all packed. The duffel lay in the middle of his bed, filled to capacity with clothing, toiletries, and the few possessions he valued the most. As he prepared to leave the first place he ever called home, he'd calmed down considerably. His guilt was still plaguing him, and he found it nearly impossible to placate it now, so he tried in vain to ignore it for the time being. The anger directed at both Guild leaders still resided within him, but it wasn't the main driving force behind his actions. Instead, Remy chose to rely on the love he felt for Belle to guide him through what was sure to be one of the hardest things he'd ever have to do. _

_Even if she no longer cared for him in the way she had when they'd taken vows to love, honor, and cherish one another for better or for worse earlier that day, he still did. Remy's feelings for her hadn't changed one bit. And those feelings were why he decided to leave._

_Belle was utterly devastated right now and she needed the comfort of her family more than she needed him, that much was plainly evident by how she'd acted when he tried to console her and Remy had been rewarded with a literal slap in the face. So, because he loved her so damn much, he'd ignore his own need for her and simply walk away. That was the true definition of love after all, caring more about the needs and desires of the person you love than your own. And he did, so he pulled on his favorite trench coat, slung the duffel over one shoulder and made his way down the hall._

_He stopped dead in his tracks when Tante Mattie walked out of a nearby room. The instant the robust woman's tired dark brown eyes fell upon him she strode directly toward him and enveloped him in a tight hug, burying her head in his chest as tears began to roll down her cheeks. Remy leaned down and wrapped his arms around her, running his hands soothingly along the broad expanse of her upper back._

"_I jus' heard 'bout y' bein' exiled, chile. An' I am so sorry, Remy. Y' don' know how much I wish dere was somet'ing I could do t' make t'ings go back t' de way dey were," Tante murmured sincerely as she lifted her head and stared up into his dark eyes._

_Even during this emotional armageddon, Remy felt a tender smile curve his lips at the genuine affection and love he always felt around Tante. _

"_Don' y' worry 'bout Remy none, Tante. Y' raised me right an' I promise t' behave m'self out dere in de big, bad world," he replied teasingly as he lifted one hand and wiped away her tears with the pad of his thumb._

_Tante looked as though she was about to spit a snappish retort at him about hiding behind a façade of humor at a time like this, but she swallowed it and said instead, "Y' always be my lil' man, Remy LeBeau. I don' give a damn what Marius or Jean-Luc say, I love y' like y' was my own son an' not'ing anybody say gon' ever change dat. Y' take care o' y'self Remy, an' come visit me, y' hear? Dey only exiled y' from Naw'lins, not my house. Y' always welcome dere."_

_Remy felt a familiar wetness prickling behind his eyes at the end of her haughty statement and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, "Y' know I will, Tante. An' I love y' too, Mattie Baptiste."_

_Rubbing away the fresh tears that began to roll down her cheeks with the back of her hand, Tante took a deep shuddering breath to keep herself from breaking down entirely then pulled out of Remy's arms. She nodded toward the room she'd just exited. "If y're sayin' yo' goodbyes dere's someone in dere dat y' should definitely see 'fore y' go."_

_Remy looked past her into the dark room and could barely make out the shape of a woman's body in a white dress lying on the bed, her form illuminated by the silver glow of the full moon pouring in from a nearby window._

"_Belle?" Remy asked hoarsely, finding it difficult to speak with the lump that'd formed in his throat._

"_Yes, she been asleep ever since I took her outta Julien's room. She should hear dis from y', Remy, not somebody else," Tante advised, giving his forearm a gentle squeeze._

_He nodded numbly, unable to speak at the moment. Tante nudged him forward a minute later when he hadn't made any move to enter the room on his own, quietly closing the door behind him to give Remy and Belle some privacy. Remy deposited his duffel on an armchair then tentatively strode toward the bed, desperately trying to figure out what he should say, if anything, to this woman that he truly loved but managed to hurt so deeply. It didn't help matters any for him to see the evidence of her sorrow written plainly across her face in the form of two dried, dark trails over her cheeks. Clad in a stained dress, her hair tangled and hanging limply around her ashen face, smeared with her ruined makeup, and yet Belle still managed to look unequally beautiful in the ethereal light the moon cast into the room. _

_He stopped at the head of the bed, standing mere inches away from her. He silently crouched down beside her, nimbly balancing on the balls of his feet. Remy braced himself for whatever reaction Belle might have to the news that he'd been exiled and reached out to gently shake her awake. His hand hovered above her shoulder, but never made contact. He simply stared at her sleeping form, the mere sight of her rendering him incapable of taking any risk that might cause her more pain. A heartrending smile twisted his lips as he lovingly traced over her features with his fingers in the air, pointedly avoiding actually touching her for fear of waking her as he committed every line and curve of her face to memory._

_Rocking back onto his heels, he reached for the shining gold band that encircled his left ring finger. He toyed with it for a moment, turning it around his finger, all the while keeping his gaze fixed upon the beauty before him. Remy LeBeau had never been more divided in his life. He was torn between pulling her into his arms and kissing her senseless or turning around and pounding on the wall in pure frustration at the unfairness of it all. He should be in her arms right now. They should be together in bed, blissfully happy and in love. He shouldn't be standing over her while she slept, debating which was the lesser of two evils—waking her and telling her goodbye or simply leaving without a word? _

_Holding back the tears that threatened to make a repeat performance, he stood. His demonic eyes never left her face as he removed the ring from his finger then gently placed it upon the pillow beside her, so that it would be visible the moment she awoke. This was his unspoken goodbye to her. She'd know what it meant when she saw it without him actually telling her. _

_It might be construed as cowardly to leave without explaining why he had to go to her, but at the moment he didn't give a damn what anyone else thought of him. All that mattered to him was Belle and what would hurt her the least. After all that she'd just endured, he'd willingly accept damnation and burn in hell right now before he'd be the source of her pain one more time. It was better this way, he justified as he walked resolutely to the door, picking up his duffel bag along the way. Belle would be undisturbed by his abrupt departure and could get some much needed rest. She'd have plenty to deal with tomorrow, and the knowledge that he was gone could wait until then._

_Remy forced himself to keep moving toward the door and away from where he wanted to be, at Belle's side. As he quietly eased the door open, he couldn't resist one last look back. Whispering a muted "I love you," he slipped out of the room, pulling the door softly shut behind him. _

**XXX**

Remy winced at the memory of his final goodbye to the woman he loved with all of his heart and soul, feeling his stomach flutter uncomfortably at the thought of never seeing her again. After he'd left the room where Belle had been sleeping, he tolerated yet another hug from Henri and allowed Mercy to cling to him as she bawled against his chest before exiting the mansion and disappearing into the darkness. He hadn't bothered to say farewell to Jean-Luc, since he didn't think punching the Thieves' leader in the face would be a very good way to start off his new life outside the protection of the Guild.

Glancing at his watch, he sighed heavily and walked to his motorcycle. It was almost midnight and he needed to be well clear of the city limits within the next few hours otherwise Marius would have his head on a stick by morning. He'd stood before the fence, staring at the nearly black waters of the bayou and chain-smoking for the better part of an hour now, hoping that if he waited long enough his revived anger would waft away just like the smoke from his cigarette. It hadn't; instead it clung to him stubbornly, almost demanding a destructive outlet for his animosity toward those who'd hurt him—Marius, Julien, Jean-Luc, and even Belle.

His soul was an emotional tornado right now. Up was down, left was right, the sky was green and the grass was blue as far as he was concerned.

Remy hated Marius, but that was nothing new. He felt remorse and some lingering anger toward Julien, but mostly he was too overwhelmed by guilt to allow himself the satisfaction of blaming the dead man for the role he'd played in this disaster. Jean-Luc bore the brunt of Remy's anger as well as his sense of betrayal. His own father had sold him out, and for what? Peace? What peace? There never had been and never would be peace between the Guilds, that much Remy knew firsthand now. He almost wished that he'd said no when Jean-Luc convinced him to stay after Remy had saved his father's life nearly six months ago when the Assassins kidnapped him (6). He should've just ignored his scheming father and made a break for the state line as fast as he could, but no, he'd allowed Jean-Luc to talk him into staying just long enough for things to rekindle between himself and Belle, ensuring that he'd be staying indefinitely.

But the bitterest ache was the emotions he was beginning to feel toward Belle. He still loved her, but sometime during his hour-long smoke break, resentment at her inability to forgive her own husband when he needed her the most began to course through him. This feeling of resentment only compounded his own guilt, so that he now felt guilty both for what he'd done and for his bitterness toward her.

He felt the pent-up emotions spreading throughout his body, making his hands itch with the desire to release his frustration physically.

Slinging one leg over the Chopper, he pushed the kickstand back with his foot and started the motor. Remy revved the engine a few times as he took one last drag on his cigarette then readied to crush it into the ground, but suddenly an idea came over him. Maybe using his powers would take some of the edge off. He was jittery enough as it was just because of his emotions, but expending some of his energy with a little explosion or two might just do the trick. It had before, so why not now?

Remy closed his thumb and forefinger around the half-burnt stick of tobacco, concentrating on exciting the molecules and sending them from a state of potential energy to kinetic. The paper glowed a bright fuchsia as a charge was urged into it. He held on for longer than was necessary to charge an object of such a small size, infusing it with more explosive force. The cigarette would explode with the intensity of a cherry bomb if he tossed it away now. But he didn't let go yet, more energy practically begged to be urged into the small object. Or into the rocks beneath his feet, the fence row behind him, or maybe even the gigantic sycamore tree planted before the mansion.

He'd always been able to sense the myriad, latent energies confined in the objects and people around him, which granted him a sort of perpetual spatial awareness and made it easier to manipulate those energies, but tonight was drastically different. He now felt as if he could simply _think_it and the molecular structures of everything around him would shift, fill with kinetic energy at his will, and detonate in a gaudy display of light and sound. The realization was unsettling enough to shock him back to reality and he flung the charged cigarette over the fence and into a small marsh that split off from the actual bayou below as he peeled off down the gravel drive. The cigarette exploded upon impact with the putrid water near the shoreline, sending water and muck flying high into the air.

Remy didn't notice as he turned onto the road and sped off, kicking up a dense cloud of gravel and dust as he reached 100 miles an hour in seconds. Had he stayed to watch the aftereffects of his actions he would've witnessed the small stretch of the bayou where the cigarette had landed begin to glow with an otherworldly light and bubble like a hot tub. The air filled with the keening whine of pulsating energy, that high-pitched sizzling sound cutting through the usual nighttime chorus of bullfrogs and crickets like a knife through warm butter. The explosion came moments later with a loud boom and a blinding dumbshow of light. When the smoke cleared, an expanse of what had been a waterlogged marsh was now a scorched, steaming pit filled with dead and dying fish, snakes, and frogs.

From beneath the cover of darkness granted by a grove of cypress trees, a pair of blood red eyes beheld Remy's exit and the explosions that followed. Darkly colored lips curled sinisterly, bearing rows of perfectly white teeth like a wolf about to go in for the kill.

"Bravo, Remy…bravo," the sound came as a languid, malevolent hiss amid a slow applause.

**A/N: **Well, that's all for now people! Hope you liked it so far! Can anyone guess who the person at the end was? ;-P You get extra points if ya get it right!

Ok, let me just say right now: I do NOT speak French, so all the translations I have here are either derived from my comics where Remy or someone else says that particular phrase in French or the aforementioned online translator. If anything is wrong please do not hesitate to inform me, just don't be mean about it.

Also, I do not practice Voodoo and my knowledge on the subject is limited, I admit. So everything I say here on the subject is what I have found either in film, television, or online information. Hopefully I've done an accurate portrayal of it here, and not completely gotten it wrong or something. Let me know what you think, ok?

Most of the way I "see" this particular chapter was derived from the Gambit limited series—Volume 1, Issue Number 2—from January of 1994. I LOVE the way the artists depicted it and it really influenced my visualizations here. Almost all of the information in this story about Gambit's past is authentic and pulled from my own comics' collection, so if I do happen to get something wrong please tell me (after all I don't have every single issue about him and I am human and will make mistakes occasionally). Now, obviously I've taken a few creative liberties (otherwise why would I be writing this?), so there are some things that are my own ideas here as well.

Oh! One last thing! I kinda hated the fact that the creators censored the name of the Thieves' rivals in Evo, so instead of the totally pussy name "Rippers" (WTF is that anyway?), I'm staying true to the comics (and 90s cartoon) continuity and calling them the right damn name, Assassins. If kids during the 90s (including me) could handle a gang w/that name and not turn out horribly scarred emotionally, why the holy-hell couldn't kids in 2000? Does anybody have an idea? Parents are so perpetuating a whole new generation of pussies with this kinda BS…

Translations (from French unless otherwise noted):

_Tante: _Aunt

_Non, pére!: _No, father!

_Enfant de pute: _Son of a bitch

_Je suis __ désolé, ma chère sœur: _I'm sorry, my dear sister

_Bâtard's: _Bastard's

_Parfait_: Perfect

_Toro!: _(Spanish) Bull!

_Olé!: _(Spanish) Bravo!

_Chérie__: _Darling (feminine)

_P'tite/Petite:_ Little one (feminine)

_Non, s'il vous plaît de Dieu, non…_ : No, please God, no…

_Vous bâtard! Vous AVEZ ASSASSINÉ mon fils!__:_ You bastard! You MURDERED my son!

_Comprenez__?: _Understand?

_Merci: _Thank you

_Je vous en prie__ : _You're welcome

_Cher: _Dear (masculine)

_Belle_: Beautiful (feminine)

_Mon frère:_ My brother

1) "If your opponent is of choleric temperament, seek to irritate him."—Sun Tzu, The Art of War, Chapter One "Laying Plans," the 1910 Dr. Lionel Giles translation.

2) This part was derived from a quote of John Travolta's in the film Broken Arrow: "All right, you're bleeding, aren't you? Well, that's good. Let's see if we can't get any more out of you, alrighty?" Yes, the film is not exactly realistic (the fact that John Woo directed it should be a hint), but the lines that Deakins (Travolta) has are some of the best I've ever heard.

3) "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise."—Thomas Gray

4) Tante's accent is largely influenced by the amazing Tia Dalma (portrayed by Naomie Harris) as seen in the films Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest and Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End. I absolutely loved Tia Dalma!

5) _L'Diable Blanc_ is a big nod to the comics, as it is Remy's moniker within the Guilds. Translation: the White Devil.

6) Season 4, "Cajun Spice."

Thanks for reading!

Sassy18


	2. Chapter One: Sympathy for the Devil

**Forsaken**

**A/N: **Hello there! Welcome to the second installment of my first X-Men: Evolution fic! As always, prolonged italics mean either thoughts or flashback—instances of full paragraphs in bold and set off with "XXX"s are flashbacks as well (thoughts within an italicized flashback are bold). This chapter occurs about a year and a half after the prologue. Translations as always are provided by b-a-b-e-l-f-i-s-h DOT a-l-t-a-v-i-s-t-a DOT c-o-m, corrected by the wonderful advice of elfeleroux, and listed in order at the end of the chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own X-Men, X-Men: Evolution or any of the characters therein. They all belong to Marvel and Stan Lee…that lucky bastard…lol Again, I don't own Interview with the Vampire or Queen of the Damned, they still belong to Anne Rice and their respective production companies. **Warning: **This chapter contains scenes from both Interview with the Vampire and Queen of the Damned as well as spoilers for Interview with the Vampire. So if you haven't seen either of these films I suggest you go watch them before reading this chapter. I also don't own any of the other films/songs/products mentioned in this chapter, its predecessor, or future chapters. I don't own the awesome song "Sympathy for the Devil" (originally a Rolling Stones tune; however, my favorite version is the Guns N' Roses remake), although I wish I did.

**Chapter Rating: **Mature (Language, implied violence/abuse, illegal consumption of alcohol, smoking, and suggestive themes)

**Special Thanks: **Holy rusted metal Batman! Wow! I've never gotten this many alerts before! And great reviews (albeit short ones…but I'll take what I can get at this point), keep 'em comin' people! And of course, thanks go out to y-o-u-t-u-b-e DOT c-o-m, the best freakin' website ever!

**Thanks Extended to People Who Alerted My Story: **deadsnowwhite, Shanynde, XoX-Rhianess-XoX, DannyPhantomFan06, Xo Maddi oX, Cleio, kipper503, Darkness-Lightness, sleepy26, Rogue181, knoxvilleloversc, Aly the Trickster, k-hunter2000, and Wiccamage.

**Thanks Extended to People Who Reviewed: **Terez, Darkness-Lightness, sleepy26, Rogue181 (extra points for you!), knoxvilleloversc (and extra points for you!), and Wiccamage (awarded best and longest review! Über thanky-thanky girlie! :-D).

**Thanks Extended to the Person Who Listed My Story as a Favorite: **Rogue181.

**Thanks Extended to the Person Who Alerted Me as an Author: **Wiccamage.

**Written While Under the Influence of: **Shooter, David Draiman-Forsaken, Guns N' Roses-Sympathy for the Devil, John Wing-I Hope You Die (aka the best break-up song EVER!), Saving Abel-Addicted, Lynyrd Skynyrd-Free Bird, Papa Roach-Scars, DMX-Lord Give Me a Sign, Nine Inch Nails-Physical, Staind-Take This, Drowning Pool-Bodies, Tantric-Down and Out, Apocalyptica-Path, The Weepies-The World Spins Madly On, Korn-Trash, Alice in Chains-Rooster, Hypnogaja-Nothing Box, The Cranberries-Dreams, Kelly Clarkson-Sober, Stabbing Westward-Save Yourself, the youtube vid "Gambit's eyes" by MortRaven (song: Eric Carmen-Hungry Eyes), Christina England Hale-Ave Maria, Dolly Parton-I Will Always Love You, Safetysuit-Someone Like You, Placebo-Running Up That Hill, Jefferson Airplane-White Rabbit, Steve Miller Band-The Joker, Bad Company-Bad Company, Mai Yamane-Rain, Prodigy-Spitfire, Adema-Immortal, and Nazareth-Hair of the Dog.

Okay, well that's enough of that bullcrap… Let's get to the story!

**Chapter One: Sympathy for the Devil**

"_Long is the way and hard that out of Hell leads up to light."_

—_John Milton, "Paradise Lost," Book II, Line 432_

A pitch-black sky dappled with puffy gray clouds enshrouded John F. Kennedy International Airport as a sleek plane landed on the tarmac. A fine sheen of mist had gathered on the smooth white metal surface of the aircraft, accumulating in small congregations of beads on the flatter portions and sliding slowly down to drip onto the landing strip below. The red-eye flight from Illinois (1) had been relatively uneventful, save for a few sporadic bouts of turbulence that'd effectively deprived all the passengers of any rest, but one passenger wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway. Ghosts of the not-so-distant past had a nasty habit of preventing peaceful sleep, especially on an airplane.

Remy LeBeau, now almost two years older and he'd like to think wiser, stepped out of the plane and strode briskly through the nearly deserted terminal.

A faithful young wife raced past him and flung herself at a man in a suit, nearly knocking them both to the floor in her haste to greet the man. Laughing at her eagerness, her husband brought his hands down to encircle her waist, then lifted her up and playfully spun her. The woman cried out in delight and showered the previously absent man with kisses and affection then began animatedly telling him how much he'd been missed. Remy's jaw clenched involuntarily as he marched past them, pointedly keeping his attention focused directly ahead of him and away from the couple.

He hated them. He envied the happiness they possessed that he'd known himself for too short a time before it was abruptly stripped away from him. The mere sight of them was a brutal, unwanted reminder of all that he'd lost eighteen months ago, of the wife he'd abandoned out of necessity rather than by choice. But the most painful reminder the happy couple oh-so-effortlessly provided him with was of his broken heart that still had yet to completely heal.

However, the last thing he needed at the moment was to reopen that particular can of worms. He needed to be mentally preparing himself for whatever effect being back _here _of all places might have on him, not torturing himself over one of the many mistakes he'd made in the past that, despite his best efforts, couldn't be fixed.

Some skeletons were best left in their graves and digging them back up wouldn't help anyone, least of all Remy because he'd been the one to put them there.

Slamming the proverbial door shut on that line of thought, he continued through the airport, resolutely diverting his attention to what lay ahead of him in an effort to avoid the multitude of tenebrous memories which resurfaced almost instantly with horrifying clarity.

The young thief's overall physicality had changed little to the untrained eye, but for those who'd known him before he bid farewell to New Orleans for the last time a year and a half ago, it was those small differences that spoke volumes. His thick brown hair fell well past his defined cheekbones now, tumbling down the nape of his neck and into his face to brush against the shiny black sunglasses camouflaging his uncanny eyes. He was well aware that it was long past sunset and that he hadn't once removed his glasses during the flight or while within the airport, but he didn't really care what people thought of him. He wasn't in any mood for the looks or the taunting for being a "mutie" tonight, nor did he wish to beat the utter crap out of a bunch of bigots who didn't know when it was time to shut their mouths. So they could just think he was blind or eccentric or whatever the hell they wanted as long as they stayed out of his way.

His face was expertly schooled into an indifferent expression; the angular, rough planes that comprised it connected perfectly to create an undeniably handsome and masculine face that effectively masked his indurated nature. And his lightly tanned complexion only added to his rugged good looks. A perpetual five-o'clock shadow peppered his cheeks and chiseled jaw line now; gone was the goatee and small patch of facial hair beneath his bottom lip that'd been a staple of his late teen years.

His trademark trench coat clothed his lanky frame, hanging off broad shoulders and flowing gracefully down to brush his ankles as he smoothly maneuvered around luggage and people without breaking stride. Beneath the brown leather duster he wore a simple, form-fitting black sweater and dark blue jeans with tattered holes at the knees. Black combat boots that gleamed in the fluorescent lighting covered his feet and made no sound as he walked.

He exited the airport and hailed a taxi with his lips set in a thin line and his brow slightly furrowed. As he sunk into the backseat of the yellow cab and gave the driver the address of where he was to meet a prospective client, he questioned just how prudent his decision to return to New York was.

He'd avoided the city like the plague ever since he'd last darkened its door over six months ago on a job that went horribly awry. After that job he'd bummed around Europe for a few months, doing nothing in particular, just avoiding North America as best he could while trying to forget his latest batch of sins. His days were filled with planning elaborate heists worthy of the best thief in the world. He spent his nights carrying out said thefts, attempting to drown himself in a whiskey bottle, or entertaining himself with various casual flings.

Remy often wondered why he even bothered to purchase hotel rooms anymore. Whenever he went on a job he always ended up sleeping in some woman's bed, only stopping by his hotel room to shower, change clothes, and plan his next job. The woman was always different; blond, brunette, redhead, tall, short, svelte, curvaceous, but it didn't really matter. They merely served as pleasant diversions to occupy his free time with so that he'd be too busy to think of _her._ Or of all the terrible things he'd done since _her_.

But when he finally fell asleep, there was nothing he could do to stop the onslaught of his memories. Memories of soft sighs and smooth skin, of light feminine laughter that poured forth from perfect pink lips, and deep blue eyes dancing with mirth, that inexorably shifted into _her _stricken face and enraged words. Those dreams, however, were a joy compared to the darkest memories which invaded his subconscious on a nightly basis. The screams, the blood, the faces…so many nameless faces that he tried so hard to forget, but couldn't.

There wasn't enough alcohol or women on the planet that could blot out what he'd done.

Remy had once thought many months ago in New Orleans that he knew how bad and dark life could be, but now he knew _true _ darkness and he'd give anything to go back to being that naïve brokenhearted boy, to somehow be ignorant of what he'd become.

But what he wanted rarely came into being, so he stubbornly continued his nightly seductions, hell-bent on forgetting his past if only for a little while. What the women looked like, their names, who they were, and if they loved him or not were all insignificant details that he chose to ignore. All he desired from them was an attractive female presence to lie beside him at night, a willing body and pair of lips to lose himself in until he'd leave to start the repetitive cycle of stealing and screwing anew elsewhere with another girl. He made them no promises for the future and he expected none in return.

There were brief moments when he almost pitied them or even felt bad for how he treated them, but in the end his own anguish and ire toward the woman he once loved overwhelmed whatever momentary remorse he might've felt for breaking their hearts. They were just the latest additions in the ever-burgeoning list of casualties that accompanied Remy's hedonistic, self-destructive actions to block out a series of pains and disasters so profound he barely survived them. And the short-lived respite the women provided him with was simply too tempting for the thief to ignore. He stole their hearts in a futile attempt to mend his own, only to disappear with his conquests when the thrill of the pinch wore off.

But somewhere along the line, his conscience had managed to catch up with him. The ghosts of his past began to plague his waking hours and the usual haunting of his dreams increased tenfold. They refused to be silenced, even momentarily, anymore by his actions to drown them out. His specters demanded their own sort of penance from him, and not just going to confession or saying a few Hail Mary's would be acceptable. Remy actually did want to atone for his sins, he just didn't know how. It seemed like every time he tried to play the hero someone else always ended up paying the price for his supposed "good deed." So he didn't entirely turn over a new leaf, however, Remy did better himself as much as he could be expected to.

Ever since his first job with the Guild, Remy's usual heists had been indiscriminate thefts whose only qualifications were degree of difficulty in the actual pinch and that the prize be worth an incredible amount of money. But now, to placate his nagging conscience, he strived to do good the only way he knew how. Stealing from the rich, or those whose fortune was built upon something they'd taken from its rightful owner—the irony that he was stealing from other thieves was not lost on Remy—and quite literally giving his spoils to the poor. He still took jobs to ensure that he'd be living _very _comfortably for the foreseeable future, but the vast majority of his thieving exploits became the aforementioned "Robin Hood"-esque jobs.

It was only within the last two months that Remy had finally mustered the courage to come back and take jobs stateside, but he still went out of his way to avoid Seattle and New York. It was bad enough that the two cities haunted his dreams, he didn't need the additional reminder that'd come with physically being there.

Heaving a weary sigh as he stared aimlessly at the incessantly moving world around him, he hoped that breaking the unspoken promise he'd made to himself to never return here all those months ago would be well worth it. The brightly lit streets of New York City slipped past him in distorted shapes as tiny rivulets of water drizzled over the taxi's windows. He swallowed back the bile that threatened to rise into his throat as the cab slowly made its way through the heavy traffic assailing the city that never sleeps. Being here brought back disturbing memories…

**XXX**

**The smell of the city's refuse mixed with blood and sweat filled his nostrils. Screams of horror intermingled with pleas for mercy assaulted his ears as he raced through the tunnels, feet splashing the murky putrid water that covered the floors onto the tails of his trench coat. The tiny shaking body clinging to his neck sobbed and he felt tears begin to soak into the fabric of his cowl near the base of his throat. He'd brought death to this place and could not stop it, so he ran and didn't look back, hoping that it would not follow.**

**XXX**

Shaking his head as though the movement would rid him of the memories, he forced his attention to his surroundings.

The autumn night was crisp and cool with a slight misting of rain that lightly bathed the streets, making the asphalt gleam like an oil slick. Miniscule, obsessively manicured lawns lined with sidewalks and trees encircled in black, wrought iron fencing flitted past; the homogeneous appearances of the upscale neighborhoods in the city made his head swim as though he were watching the lines painted on a highway whiz by. An occasional fleeting breeze would send a spray of red and gold leaves flying off the trees to adhere to the first semi-wet surface they came into contact with. The usually bumper-to-bumper road conditions in the city had somehow managed to worsen, if that was even possible, due to the holiday.

_Halloween, how appropriate for dis devil's return t' de big city_, Remy thought wryly as he watched a group of costumed teenagers cross the street with brightly colored bags, presumably filled with ungodly amounts of candy, firmly in hand.

Eventually the cab made its way out of the more crowded sections of the city and into the desolate outskirts of the bustling metropolis. The taxi lurched to a stop before a ramshackle warehouse district and the cabbie eagerly accepted his fare as Remy grabbed his one piece of luggage and stepped out. Almost before Remy's feet had completely left the floorboard, the driver slammed his foot onto the gas pedal and drove off as quickly as possible. Apparently he didn't like the looks of the seedy area, but Remy on the other hand was wholly accustomed to the darker side of society.

Hell, a little over a decade ago this kind of environment would've been downright inviting for a young, orphaned mutant thief with burning red eyes.

Pointedly redirecting his train of thought, Remy hefted his duffel bag up onto his shoulder and started toward the building directly in front of him. He pulled his trench coat tighter around him as a particularly cold gust of wind whipped harshly across his face.

_Damn Northern weather, why de hell we gotta meet here 'stead o' someplace nice an' warm? _Remy grumbled internally as he pulled a key ring out of one of his trench coat's many pockets.

He slid the solitary key into the doorknob of the building marked with the proper address and swung the battered metal door open. Stepping inside, he was almost immediately met with the overwhelming stench of urine and other bodily excretions. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he continued into the darkened room, fumbling fruitlessly for the light switch along the way. The room was abysmally dark; its grimy, broken windows having long since been covered with plywood and there seemed to be only one door. The lack of an emergency escape route unnerved him for a second, but he quickly shook that thought off and walked farther into the room.

He removed his sunglasses and tucked them into the neckline of his sweater, allowing his red-on-black eyes to survey the room more easily. One benefit of his unnatural eyes, he could see infinitely better in the dark than any human being had a right to.

The room was an almost perfectly square enclosure with rough, unadorned concrete walls. Piles of dirty rags and what'd once been a mattress lined two walls amid the rubbish riddled floors. A small Formica table with two folding metal chairs was positioned in the middle of the room. A thick layer of dust coated every surface around him, pairing perfectly with the uncirculated stale air that permeated the space. The place looked as though it'd once been the home of a squatter or some other form of transient, but only a few rodents appeared to reside there now.

Remy sent an impatient glance to his watch and silently cursed the man who'd called him here. If he'd just flown across four states in the middle of the night to be stood up by a _man_ he was going to be seriously pissed. Reaching into the inside breast pocket of his trench coat he pulled out one of his decks of cards. He shuffled them for a full minute, growing more annoyed with each passing second.

"_Au diable!"_ Remy shouted irately as he shucked three cards from the deck into his palm and urged a kinetic charge into them. He'd at least give this place a little makeover in retaliation for journeying out here for nothing.

Before he could fling the cards that glowed a violent fuchsia into the depths of the room, a familiar voice reached his ears.

"I take it you have not heard the saying 'good things come to those who wait,' Gambit?"

His attention immediately snapped toward the source of the unexpected statement; it was an exceptional person that could come upon him completely unannounced and Remy didn't enjoy the sensation of being surprised. Suddenly the rows of dust-encrusted lights above him flickered to life, temporarily blinding him. Muttering a curse he squeezed his eyes shut, the too rapid change in light intensity eliciting a starburst of pain in his skull, but kept the cards in his hand primed to detonate should he need them.

"_Non, _Gambit's heard o' it, he jus' ain't 'xactly de patient type," the Cajun thief retorted glibly as he shielded his sensitive eyes with his free hand and smiled inwardly at the use of his alias. It didn't sound nearly as threatening coming from this man as it did from his previous employer.

A low chuckle came from the far side of the room as a tall, older man approached Remy. Intense eyes, turned a luminescent shade of gold due to his immense powers, stared at the thief through the slits of the protective head covering the other man wore. Ruby red body armor that covered the man from his neck down shined like the precious jewel it seemed to derive its color from as he moved.

"Dis ain't quite what I was expectin' yo' new hideout t' look like, Magneto," Remy continued as he doused the charge from his cards and in the same motion replaced them in the pack, an amused smirk curling the corners of his mouth upward.

Erik Magnus Lehnsherr (2), better known as the mutant supremacist Magneto, strode quickly toward Remy. He removed his ubiquitous helmet, purple cape fluttering regally behind him as he seemed to float across the room. His short silver hair gleamed in the flickering light cast by the old florescent tubes hanging in rows on the ceiling; the persistent hum of the lights a dull background noise in the otherwise too quiet room.

"Oh, and just what were you expecting, Gambit?" Magneto asked, a ghost of a smile twitching the corners of his own mouth.

"De usual…big ole metal dome out in de middle o' nowhere, maybe. Definitely not whatever de hell dis is supposed t' be," Remy responded with an indolent shrug that was little more than a slight rise and fall of one shoulder.

The hollowed out sound of the chuckle that escaped the powerful mutant set off warning bells in some primitive portion of the younger man's brain as Magneto indicated for Remy to follow him. The thief regarded his one-time employer's retreating back skeptically, but seeing no clear signs of malice, trailed behind him toward the wall where the other man had suddenly appeared earlier. As they neared the wall, Gambit noticed that a long, vertical section of concrete in that portion of the wall was just a shade lighter than the surrounding blocks. The Master of Magnetism waved his hand over that segment of the wall and instantly a metal reinforced door with a concrete façade overlay opened from behind it, revealing a stairwell.

A crooked grin twisted Remy's lips at the cleverly disguised door, he now felt slightly better about Magneto being able to sneak up on him knowing that his kinesthetic spatial recognition hadn't failed him.

The duo descended the stairs quickly and ended up in a brightly lit underground warehouse, much like the one that'd served as Magneto's base of operations prior to the return of Apocalypse. Not long after the world's first mutant was resurrected, the Acolyte's leader had seemingly died attempting to combat the ancient mutant and Remy—freed from his contract—had returned to New Orleans to rescue his captive father. He wasn't well-versed in just what'd happened after Apocalypse had been defeated several months later by the X-Men, Brotherhood, and S.H.I.E.L.D working together, but Remy had heard that Magneto joined with Xavier (3).

"Is this more up to your usual high standards, Gambit?" Magneto questioned as he gestured around them with a gloved hand.

Remy allowed his eyes to sweep over the room, methodically assessing his surroundings quickly and completely as the early ingrained habit to have absolute awareness of the world around him demanded. High vaulted ceilings and walls entirely coated with thick, shiny metal sheeting met his gaze. Various wooden crates filled with only God knows what were scattered throughout the impossibly large open space. There were raised platforms that lead deeper into the seemingly endless labyrinthine underground building and more doors than he could possibly count just within his line of sight.

"I prefer a less stringent environment m'self, but whatever floats yo' boat…" Remy replied uninterestedly, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his trench coat. "Y' didn' call me out here jus' t' get my opinion on yo' interior decoratin' skills, 'm sure, so let's get t' de rat-killin' (4). Why 'm I here?" he added impatiently around a sigh as he ran his fingers over the edges of the cards inside his pocket to suppress his craving for a cigarette.

"The direct approach, I must say I am surprised…but I digress. I called you here to offer you a job," Magneto composedly answered, dragging two metal chairs toward them with his own mutant power of magnetism.

Magneto immediately settled himself in one of the chairs, sweeping his cape to the side as he descended, then placed his helmet upon one knee and waved Remy toward the other chair. Remy politely declined with a shake of his head, leaning instead against a nearby crate, arms folded loosely across his chest. He'd been sitting for the last three hours, plus he never was comfortable being too close to objects that Magneto could manipulate into killing weapons with merely the bat of an eye.

The older man didn't seem to pick up on Remy's underlying suspicion and continued on, "Your unique skill set proved quite useful to our cause once, I'm sure it would again."

"An' jus' whose 'cause' would I be fightin' for dis time? Last I heard y' was workin' wit' Xavier, if dat's true why meet here 'stead o' at de mansion?" Remy inquired in a casual tone but scrutinized Magneto's face intently.

"For a time I was residing with Charles," Magneto began in a low, clipped tone, "however, certain events dictated that I return to my former stance on the issue of coexistence between humans and mutants."

The older man's lips drew taut across his face at the end of his vague answer and Remy decided against plying him for more information on what was clearly a touchy subject.

"So what 'xactly would y' be wantin' Gambit t' be doin' for y' dis time?" Remy asked noncommittally as he idly rubbed the stubble along his jaw.

"You would return to your former status as an Acolyte and be ready to do whatever is necessary to prevent humanity from harming mutants, as well as combating those misguided ones of our own kind who believe there can be peace between _Homo sapiens_ and _Homo sapiens superior_. You would be a testament to your lineage and work toward the ultimate goal of a world where humans are subservient to mutants," Magneto's disturbingly calm voice created a foreboding atmosphere as it reverberated off the metal walls and the fanatical gleam to his powder blue eyes raised the hairs along the back of Remy's neck.

Sighing deeply, Remy pushed himself up off the crate, readjusting his duffel along the way. He allowed one hand to sneak back into the coat pocket beside his right hip, fingers resting lightly on his cards as a precaution should things get ugly. He had no desire to go back to where he'd been over two years ago, playing lackey for a megalomaniac, especially now that Magneto seemed to have taken an even bigger leap into La-La Land while Remy had been away.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I've had enough o' fightin' for other people's pipe dreams. No need t' show me de way out, I can manage on my own," Remy tipped his head respectfully to the seated Magneto and turned on his heel to leave.

"What's the matter, LeBeau? Ya scared ta get yer hands dirty anymore?" a menacing voice snarled from behind him.

Remy's hands instinctively clenched into tight fists and he wrapped one hand around his cards, readying to charge and lob them at the man who frequently haunted his nightmares.

"Creed…" Remy growled, turning back to face the massive man.

Long greasy hair the color of snot slithered past the broad shoulders of the tall Canada native as he stalked toward Remy, his tattered trench coat flowing behind him and a twisted grin plastered across his face. Golden-brown eyes like those of his namesake bore into the thief as though he were wounded prey just waiting for the killing stroke to be delivered. The nostrils of the man's wide, hooked nose flared as he inhaled deeply, welcoming the scent of an old foe. Yellowed teeth peeked out from beneath the man's lips, two prominent elongated canines turning what would've been a smile into a feral bearing of fangs.

"For y' I'll gladly make an exception," Remy hissed through gritted teeth as the mutant known as Sabertooth came closer.

A sneer of pure loathing quirked the thief's lips as he pulled a trio of cards from his coat and urged a kinetic charge into them. A high-pitched whine analogous to the sound of nails on a chalkboard filled the air as he stepped toward Sabertooth, brandishing the brightly glowing cards between his fingers like throwing knives. Not at all threatened by the rangy thief glaring murderously at him, Victor Creed continued to slowly advance upon Remy, his tongue slipping past his lips to run along the points of his exposed canines.

"Bring it on, boy. Lessee just how tough ya are without someone watching yer back," the Canadian mutant goaded as he uncurled his fists, revealing the long, razor sharp claws that extended from each of his fingers.

The two men stood less than a foot apart, bodies tense and just waiting for the inevitable attack. Remy's cards were now an intense shade of magenta with the incredible amount of energy being fed into them and the screeching sound of excited molecules reached a level that made even Sabertooth momentarily wince. The vibrant purple-pink light cast from the cards flashed across the thief's face, distorting his ruggedly handsome features into a stiff mask of hatred.

Remy wouldn't feel one ounce of remorse if he killed this man; in fact, murdering Creed might actually alleviate some of the tremendous sense of guilt that seemed to perpetually rest squarely on the thief's shoulders.

"Enough. Back off, both of you, or I will be forced to separate you myself," Magneto ordered, voice practically dripping with authoritative control as he stood and positioned himself between Sabertooth and Remy.

A small magnetic nudge that forced both men back half a step accompanied the older mutant's words, an unspoken warning of just how he'd separate them if they didn't do so themselves. Gambit grudgingly backed off first and absorbed the charge from his cards then replaced them in a pocket, but continued to glare at Creed venomously with one hand still firmly wrapped around the deck just in case. Sabertooth merely smirked at Remy victoriously, relishing the fact that the thief had been the one to back down from the fight, then strode over to a nearby doorway and leaned against the frame.

Magneto shot the feral mutant a disapproving frown then turned back to Remy, his expression neutral. "My apologies, Gambit. If you should change your mind you know how to find me."

"No offense, Magneto, but if de overgrown pussycat's gonna be here dere's no way dis side o' hell dat I'll be workin' for y'." Remy declared vehemently as he yanked the strap of his duffel bag up higher on his shoulder then shoved his hands deeply into his trench coat pockets. He fished out the key to the warehouse and flung it toward Magneto, who stopped it midair then let it drop into his waiting palm.

The Cajun thief turned on his heel and resolutely marched toward the stairwell, his irises flaring a deep shade of scarlet amid the jet-black sclera as he ascended the stairs and disappeared into the darkness. He didn't look back or even break stride when he heard Sabertooth mutter, "Fuckin' coward. Shoulda' killed ya when I had the chance an' put ya outta everyone's misery."

XXX

Minutes later Remy exited the small aboveground warehouse, fuming and desperately in need of a stiff drink and a cigarette to soothe his frayed nerves. Pulling the crumpled pack out of his trench coat pocket, he clamped his teeth around a stick of tobacco then lit it with his battered Ace of Spades Zippo. Taking a long satisfying drag on the cigarette and replacing the pack in his pocket, he scanned the street as he walked for a semi-decent bar. Remy stepped into the first overly crowded, smoke-filled, dark building boasting signs for alcoholic beverages that he saw.

He unceremoniously plopped down onto a stool near one corner of the bar, wedged in between a group of vapid looking sorority girls clad in "Naughty Nurse" and "Playboy Bunny" outfits and a table of slack-jawed, barely legal boys that unabashedly stared at the girls' exposed cleavage. The girls openly ogled him and the boys glared as he passed them by on his way to the stool. He pointedly ignored both groups, choosing instead to busy himself with setting his duffel down on the floor then catching the attention of the bartender. He wasn't interested in air-headed bimbos drunk off their asses or testosterone driven, horny boys looking for a fight at the moment.

An attractive barmaid approached him a second later and began wiping down the messy bar with a towel. She wore a much more modest ensemble than the girls standing off to his left, consisting of a low cut black vest top and dark blue skinny jeans.

"What can I get ya, handsome?" the brunette bartender half-shouted, half-asked to be heard over the pounding music as she bent across the bar to hear his answer.

"Shot o' Jack," Remy replied loudly, smiling mischievously at the young woman in an attempt to make her forget to ask for his driver's license seeing as he was still a few months shy of being 21 years old.

She gave him a flirtatious grin of her own then inquired, "ID please."

_Maudit. Well dat didn' work at all like I'd hoped… Guess I'll have t' go wit' de ole stand-by_, Remy thought while leaning forward on the bar, his crimson irises flashing brightly at the barmaid.

"Y' see _chère_, I jus' flew t' de city t'night an' seems I left my driver's license at de hotel room b'cause I wasn' gon' be drivin' t'night. 'S my own fault, but could a _belle femme _such as y'self take pity on Remy an' bring him a drink anyway?" he purred in a voice smooth as silk.

He allowed his mutant charm ability to cajole the woman into agreeing with him no matter how illogical his explanation may've been. The sensual tone and impish words merely helped to grease the proverbial wheel as well as to ensure her cooperation in providing him with as many drinks as he desired without complaint. The woman's cheeks instantly flushed bright pink as she reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey. She poured him a shot then leaned across the bar, tipping her torso down farther than necessary, allowing him a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage as she deposited the glass before him.

"This one's on the house then. By the way, I _love _your contacts," she returned in a sultry whisper, peering coyly at him from beneath her eyelashes.

Smiling triumphantly, Remy raised his glass appreciatively then downed the shot, eyes following the barmaid as she sashayed off to another customer, casting him an over-the-shoulder glance along the way. His eyes were drawn to her waist while she walked, watching as her short top rode up high on her stomach, revealing a long expanse of her smooth, bare midriff.

Well, Remy reasoned, Halloween couldn't be all bad if people accepted his unnatural eyes, which he'd forgotten to cover up in his haste to procure alcohol, as merely being the effect of colored contact lenses.

But for the moment, Remy had bigger fish to fry. He felt that he deserved a night of debauchery after he'd just exercised an unprecedented degree of self-control by not redecorating Magneto's new base with Creed's entrails, and the cute bartender seemed an ideal candidate in that department. He allowed himself to truly appreciate the macabre visualization of Sabertooth exploding for a few more seconds then set about securing his company for the evening. Catching the brunette's attention again, he beckoned her closer with a crooked finger to refill his drink. Her hips swung provocatively as she approached him, snagging the bottle of whiskey along the way.

"Tell me, what time y' get off work at, _chère_?" Remy murmured seductively as she leaned in close to pour his drink, a cocksure smirk curling the corners of his mouth at her sharp intake of breath.

XXX

The sprawling mansion that resided at 1407 Graymalkin Lane in Westchester County just outside Bayville, New York was largely empty tonight. Most of the inhabitants of the Xavier Institute for the Gifted had ventured out to enjoy the holiday with family and friends. Shafts of faint blue light poured out of a window in the dormitories located on the second floor of the massive estate. Within the lighted room, a pale young woman lay on her stomach upon a bed with a deep evergreen comforter, her bare feet kicking idly in the air. The patches of porcelain skin revealed by her black tank top and matching shorts appeared luminescent in the glow of a large television set positioned before her bed and her roommate's. Auburn locks that curled slightly at the ends spilled down her back, stopping just beneath her shoulder blades, and twin streaks of pure white hair framed her face.

The 19-year-old native of Mississippi known only as Rogue was enjoying the undisturbed quiet that ruled over the usually raucous mansion tonight.

There was no annoying roommate going on and on about her erratic relationship with her boyfriend, no pseudo-brother vying for her attention like an incessant puppy, and no unnecessarily loud younger students to bother her. With all the voices constantly chattering in her head, any form of quiet was sacrosanct and she was determined to enjoy it while it lasted.

Professor Charles Xavier allowed the students and staff of the Institute to slightly "bend" the curfew around the holidays, figuring it'd cause less trouble than rigidly enforcing that particular rule at such hectic times. Almost the entire teaching staff had fled the mansion hours ago to enjoy themselves, as had the student body.

The professor and Henry "Hank" McCoy—also known as Beast—had left earlier that day to attend a medical conference in the city where Dr. McCoy was to give a speech on the origins of the X-gene that caused mutants to exist. Ororo Munroe, aka Storm, elected to spend the holiday with the family of her nephew, Evan Daniels. Logan, or Wolverine, was still in Canada with X-23—whom they'd recently taken to calling Laura—looking for more clues about his past ties to the country's government. He'd been gone for nearly three weeks now and wasn't due back for at least another few days.

Because all the "responsible adults" were going to be gone, the young field leader of the X-Men, Scott Summers—aka Cyclops—and the professor's favorite pupil, Jean Grey, were placed in charge until Xavier and Hank returned after the conference early the following morning. Almost before the door had completely shut behind the blue-furred doctor, Jean somehow managed to force Scott into a costume, then hauled him off to a Halloween party, leaving the others to their own devices for the evening and threatening a painful death to any who misbehaved while the two were away.

Kurt Wagner and Kitty Pryde, aka Nightcrawler and Shadowcat, respectively, had the foresight to realize that to keep the youngest mutants from destroying the mansion, the best course of action would be to get them _out_ of the mansion. Kitty already had plans with her boyfriend, Lance Alvers—aka the Brotherhood's unofficial leader, Avalanche—for the evening, but she managed to talk him into taking some of the youngest children trick-or-treating along with them. Kurt, unfortunately, was charged with amusing the teenage mutants with Tabitha Smith, better known as Boom Boom, "helping" him no less. Rogue's blue-furred "brother" had been quite literally dragged away by the blond firecracker with the other mutants to a haunted house. Kurt's longtime girlfriend, Amanda Sefton, couldn't get away from her parents in time to go with him, but promised she'd see him later.

So Rogue was now totally alone in the mansion at the moment; thus, why she allowed herself the temporary satisfaction of dressing like a normal young woman tonight.

She wore no gloves, no long sleeves, no long pants, or any other protective skin coverings. The only things covering her body tonight were thin scraps of soft cotton fabric that any nineteen-year-old woman could be expected to lounge about in.

She knew with absolute certainty that Logan and the others would all end up in spontaneous conniption fits if they could see her like this. Every one of them would fall all over themselves to be the first to tell her to cover up, to protect them all from her uncontrollable mutant powers. She almost laughed aloud at the mental image, although a sob would be more appropriate. But even the knowledge of the uproar her taboo clothing choice would incite meant little to her at the moment, in fact, she found it oddly thrilling to be disobeying that particular unwritten rule.

The cool air from the balcony door that sat ajar behind her raised goose bumps on the bare flesh of her arms and legs, but she enjoyed the sensation. It wasn't often that she was allowed to be so exposed, and truthfully she relished any chance she had to be just slightly "normal" even if it was only for a fleeting moment. She tired of always being paranoid about having her gloves firmly in place and ensuring that every single inch of her skin was covered at all times.

For as long as she could remember she'd been told to cover up, first with her foster mother, Irene Adler, and a phony skin condition, and again when her mutant powers activated three years ago. From that point on, her clothed body became a prison and her companions her jailors, always on the look-out for her exposed, pale, deadly skin.

Logically, she understood the need for caution, and Rogue herself was usually the most compulsive one about being completely covered when in the presence of others, but the constant fear was beginning to wear on her nerves. Especially when she could plainly see people like Jean, Kitty, and all the other mutants that resided at the mansion enjoying the simple act of touch on a daily basis.

Why did they get to touch and she didn't? What had she done to deserve a lifetime of self-imposed exile, enforced by the knowledge of the pain she could cause with the most basic of human contact?

Rogue hated herself for the bitterness she felt and it sickened her to even think such egotistical, self-pitying thoughts, but she couldn't deny their validity deep down in her own soul. She was jealous of those around her and she knew it, but she didn't care. They took for granted things that she would kill, or at least maim, to experience just once (5). To hug someone without worrying about if her shirt had sleeves or not, to hold someone's bare hand in her own, to kiss a boyfriend without putting him into an instantaneous coma…

But with her powers, those simple acts were forever denied to her, lest she do others serious harm. Rogue's "gift," as the professor called it, was the ability to absorb the psyche, life force, memories—and in the case of mutants—powers of her victims through her skin. The amount of time she possessed the attributes of that person depended upon the duration of the physical contact when she absorbed them, but a sort of mental residue of her victims remained with her forever. Inside her mind the absorbed psyches lay in wait for an opportunity to wrench control of her own mind and body away from her. They had succeeded in doing so once before, and the outcome had most decidedly not been pleasant (6).

It was bad enough having her body be used without her consent two years ago, but that wasn't even the worst part. Ever since that day the other students had looked at her as though she were a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the day when she absorbed one too many people and went berserk again. To prevent that very thing from happening, Rogue had begun to meet with the professor on a weekly basis immediately after Dr. McCoy released her from the med-lab. The meetings were to check in on the current state of the psyches in her mind, and, if necessary, drive them out as Xavier had before with his telepathy.

As the months passed and Rogue didn't lose control, most of the students began to treat her as though she weren't as fragile as a plane of glass and as volatile as nitroglycerine, but some were still wary of her—even more so than they'd been before. Truthfully, she didn't mind them avoiding being around her, she was used to that since most people tended to treat her like a leper the instant they witnessed her powers in action, but there was something far worse than that.

Pity.

There was nothing in the entire world that Rogue hated more than the pitying glances some of the other students sent her way.

They looked at her like it was a miracle that she even bothered to get up in the morning, as though if it were them they would've put themselves out of their own misery a long time ago rather than go on living that sort of life. It made her want to puke, after she got finished rearranging their bone structure for them of course. But there was one person that'd always looked at Rogue that way, from the very first day they met and still did today.

The valedictorian, former soccer MVP/head cheerleader/star basketball player, and everyone's favorite telepathic-telekinetic mutant, Miss Jean-I-am-so-sickeningly-perfect-Grey.

Rogue scornfully remembered the way Jean had looked at her before she left the mansion earlier that night. The redheaded telepath had blushed a shade of scarlet rivaling that of her long hair when Rogue had walked past Jean in the hallway just as her boyfriend, Scott, moved to kiss her. She'd practically jumped out of Scott's arms in a completely pathetic attempt to make their contact seem more platonic for Rogue's benefit. For a wild moment, Rogue had wanted nothing more than to walk right up to Jean and give the telepath a huge kiss on the cheek to show her "gratitude" for Jean's staggering sensitivity, to hell with the consequences.

Deep down she knew that Jean was only trying to be nice and not flaunt the fact that she could touch, especially because the person she was touching was Scott—the man that Rogue had had a crush on for quite some time—in Rogue's face, but her poor attempt at sparing Rogue's feelings only made the Goth hate "Perfect Jean" even more.

She didn't need Jean's pity, nor did she want it, but every time she was around the telepath she could practically _feel_ the sympathy rolling off of her in waves. And that was what truly made Rogue hate the woman. She'd gotten over Scott a long time ago, it was Jean herself that was on Rogue's last nerve now.

Huffing moodily, Rogue turned her attention back to the movie she'd been watching, purposely banishing all thoughts of Jean Grey and the other X-Men from her mind. Tonight was all about her, a gigantic bag of chocolates, and the dozens of movies strewn all over the bed around her.

As soon as the others left, she'd snagged an armful of her absolute favorite horror films and an extra-large bag of junk food intended for trick-or-treaters then locked herself in the bedroom she shared with Kitty, fully intending on gorging herself and watching movies until she dropped. At the moment she'd just polished off one-forth of the bag of assorted mini-candy bars and the third act of Interview with the Vampire was just getting warmed up. She loved this movie, and not just because it sported an impossibly handsome, young Brad Pitt—although that was still a definite plus—but because of the incredibly tragic storyline. Rogue empathized with Louis and Claudia on a level that not many people could; she herself was by rights a vampire, stealing the very lives of her victims with a mere touch rather than with a vampire's kiss.

Rogue unwrapped a miniature Three Musketeers and popped it into her mouth as one of her favorite scenes began, Claudia's destruction by the Paris Vampires. Yes, it was a morbid scene to prefer, but that wasn't why she liked it so much. The acute sadness and rage reflected in the character of Louis when he saw his beloved Claudia destroyed made her heart ache in the best of ways. Rogue wasn't a huge fan of Hollywood heartthrobs, mostly because they were only attractive until they spoke, but she had to admit that Brad Pitt was much more than just a pretty face in this particular role.

She was enthralled as Louis reached down to lovingly caress Claudia's charred hand, only for her entire corpse to disintegrate right before his eyes. He slowly turned away, his electric green eyes shining ethereally with grief and anger as the ashes clung to his shoulder-length brown hair and pale skin. As Louis exited the room and glared at Santiago, the vampire most directly responsible for Claudia's horrible fate, his jaw clenched and eyes piercing in the darkness like a cat's, Rogue was reminded of someone else. The chiseled jaw line, dark hair, and preternaturally glowing red eyes of Remy LeBeau appeared like a shot before her mind's eye (7).

Rogue actually jumped at the sudden vision, knocking several candy wrappers onto the floor. He was certainly the last person she expected to be thinking about at a time like this. It wasn't that she minded thinking about the attractive Cajun thief, quite the contrary, she was just surprised at how easily and clearly her imagination conjured up a visualization of him. It didn't help matters any for her to be almost immediately bombarded with an image of when they'd first met.

Remy's gorgeous eyes had pinned her to the spot in the deserted shipyard, her one bare hand hanging motionless in the air where it'd been poised to knock him out. He'd regarded her almost as though he were amused rather than threatened, staring at her with a casual smirk gracing his handsome features. She blushed at the fact that he'd been able to fluster her so completely that she almost blew her own hand off with that damned charged card he'd given her. The flush deepened when she remembered how he'd leaned in so closely to her, his eyes heavy-lidded but focused solely on her as he inched down to kiss her. Or at least she always _assumed _ he'd been attempting to kiss her. He might've just been trying to get close enough to take her out of the fight.

Sighing in disgust at her own dreamy musings, Rogue stood and began to retrieve the wrappers that'd fallen onto the floor. Still blushing brightly all the way to the tips of her ears, she settled back down onto her soft comforter and determinedly focused on the rest of the movie.

She was _not_ going to think about Remy tonight.

Thinking about him would only get her depressed. Rogue hadn't heard so much as a peep from the Cajun thief in the year and a half since the night she left New Orleans with the X-Men after she'd helped him rescue his adopted father. The two of them had formed a tentative truce that night, but not much had come of it. He was probably off with some bimbo right now and hadn't given her a second thought after she left.

Savagely biting into another miniature piece of chocolate, Rogue pointedly fixed all of her attention onto the television screen.

Nearly half an hour later, Rogue was so completely immersed in the film that she barely noticed her bedroom door open and Kitty walk in. The younger girl entered the room, flipping the light switch casually along the way, unintentionally blinding Rogue and eliciting several colorful curses from the Southerner.

"Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to… Good God, Rogue! What are you wearing? Are you trying to kill someone?" Kitty exclaimed, jumping backward in shock the instant she saw her Gothic roommate nonchalantly lounging about in nothing but a tiny black top and even smaller shorts.

Rogue's right eyebrow twitched slightly in irritation as she turned back to the television, but she gave no further response.

Eyeing the wrappers strewn all over Rogue's bedspread, Kitty continued her tirade without waiting for an answer to her first round of questions, "Rogue, I've been gone for, like, three hours now, and it doesn't look like you've even left the room since I left. It's Halloween, Rogue! All the teachers are gone, and this is, like, the one night in how long that the curfew isn't an issue. Don't you even wanna go out? Everyone else is out having a good time except you."

Kitty dropped a plastic bucket shaped like a jack-o-lantern filled with candy on her bed then turned back to Rogue, her diminutive fists propped on her narrow hips in a ridiculously funny attempt at intimidation. The girl's long brown ponytail swung behind her with every move she made and her bright blue eyes fixed themselves on her roommate's face, determined to get an answer.

"Thanks for the update on the time, sugah. Ah dunno what Ah'd do if Ah didn' have ya here ta tell time for meh," Rogue shot back sarcastically, ignoring Kitty's comment about her outfit and never taking her eyes off the television as she spoke.

The Chicago native looked genuinely hurt by the Goth's hostility for a moment, then set about hanging her faded denim jacket up in her closet, munching pensively on a piece of candy from her own stash along the way.

"Look, I didn't mean to sound so harsh, it's just, well, you're my friend, Rogue. I don't like seeing you so alone all the time," Kitty explained apologetically as she sat on the edge of her own bed, facing her roommate.

Rogue paused the movie and turned toward the younger girl, her verdant green irises appearing almost slate gray in the light from the television screen.

Propping herself up on her elbows and not bothering to tone down the bitterness in her voice, she retorted, "Kitty, it's hard ta not be 'alone' when everyone around ya treats ya like ya've got the plague. Ah mean, Ah'm here in our room, completely by mahself, an' then ya come in an' the first thing ya notice is the fact that Ah'm not all covered up. There's no one around but meh, an' yet ya're still worried about meh absorbin' someone. If that's the reaction Ah get when it's just ya, someone who knows all about mah powers, how can Ah expect ta have a good time around people who don't know how dangerous Ah am? The whole damn time Ah'd be thinkin' 'bout how close everyone else was ta me an' worryin' 'bout somethin' happenin'. Bein' as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full o' rockin' chairs ain't exactly what Ah call a good time…"

Kitty stared into Rogue's angry eyes then looked away, an embarrassed blush staining her cheeks. Rogue dropped her own gaze, briefly remorseful for her malicious words, and pressed play on the remote. A heavy silence descended on the room with Rogue watching the last of the movie and Kitty idly picking at a loose thread on her own bubblegum pink comforter.

Finally tired of the uncomfortably quiet atmosphere, Kitty rose and gathered all of Rogue's discarded candy wrappers for her then deposited them in the wastebasket beside the door. The small gesture was her unspoken apology in a friendship that knew far more arguments than instances of kindness. Rogue accepted the act of contrition by tossing a package of Twizzlers in Kitty's direction, knowing full well that they were the Chicago girl's favorite, muttering under her breath that she had no idea why Kitty liked the disgusting candy.

Smiling slightly in understanding, the brunette teen ripped open the plastic package as she grabbed her own pajamas and headed to the bathroom they shared to change. She reappeared moments later just as Daniel heard the last of Louis' tale in the film, clad in her usual bedtime attire of an oversized pink T-shirt and matching shorts. Kitty yawned loudly then plopped down onto her own bed, snagging her stuffed dragon, Lockheed (8), off his usual spot atop her pillows and holding him to her chest as she watched the movie herself.

"So how was your date with Lance an' the lil' kiddies?" Rogue questioned with a sardonic twist to her mouth and a playfully arched eyebrow.

Kitty gave her roommate a mock-glare and returned in simulated huffiness, "Just fine. Lance was a perfect gentleman…

"…Or as close to a gentleman as he can be," she quickly amended at Rogue's pointed look.

Rogue snorted a laugh and tore open another mini-candy bar, "An' how did Jamie do? Ah'm surprised he didn' ruin y'alls night right off the bat."

"Well, he did decide that he could get more candy if he made clones of himself and sent them out to different houses on each block, but after about the third time someone said they'd already given him candy, we figured out his scam," Kitty recounted with a giggle.

"So how'd ya take care of that?" Rogue inquired as she rolled onto her side and propped her head on one hand, eyes flashing with amusement.

"We had Dorian (9) turn off Jamie's, Rahne's, and Roberto's powers until we got home," the Chicago native mumbled before cramming an entire Twizzlers stick into her mouth, cheeks flushing a bright shade of pink in guilty embarrassment.

"Kitty!" Rogue shouted with a reproachful, but slightly humored, glance.

"Hey, you didn't have to corral ten Jamies each with a bag full of candy!" Kitty defended vehemently.

Rogue nearly choked on the bite of chocolate she'd just taken, laughing outright at Kitty then dodging the pillow the petite girl tossed in her direction. The Gothic mutant snagged the fluffy pillow off the floor where it'd landed and chucked it at Kitty, smacking her right in the face. Kitty squealed in indignation then whacked Rogue in the back of the head with that same pillow. Rogue turned to her with a this-means-war expression on her face as she reached for one of her own pillows.

A full fledged pillow fight of epic proportions ensued, allowing the girls to get out any residual anger at one another and to simply have fun together.

After nearly five minutes of smacking and hitting one another with the feather-filled "weapons," they both collapsed on their respective beds, matching looks of slight exhaustion and childish delight on their faces. Rogue's sides ached from laughing and the fact that Kitty still had a tiny white feather sticking out from the top of her ponytail didn't help matters any. Panting faintly, they resumed their previous positions, Rogue laying on her stomach and Kitty sitting Indian style with Lockheed in her lap, and returned their attentions to the television screen.

"_Oh, Louis, Louis… Still whining, Louis. Have you heard enough? I've had to listen to that for centuries. Don't be afraid. I'm going to give you the choice I never had."_

Rogue felt a smile creep onto her face at Lestat's words, but more so because of the blatant shudder they elicited from Kitty than the decadent actions they hinted at. The younger girl never did like any sort of horror movie, and Rogue couldn't help but scare her just a little bit with them occasionally. It was the Goth's way of repaying her roommate for playing overly chipper pop music at earsplitting levels _way _too early in the morning.

"Can we watch something else now that this movie's over?" Kitty asked as she dug into her jack-o-lantern for more candy.

"Sure," Rogue replied, shoving herself up into a sitting position. "But Ah love this song. Ah'll put another in after it's over."

Kitty rolled her eyes and bit into a Kit Kat bar as Rogue grabbed the DVD case for Interview with the Vampire then began to gather the other DVDs into separate piles, the pulsating beat of "Sympathy for the Devil" by Guns N' Roses pouring out of the speakers and filling the room.

**Please allow me to introduce myself**

**I'm a man of wealth and taste**

**I've been around for a long, long year**

**Stolen many man's soul and faith**

**I was around when Jesus Christ**

**Had his moment of doubt and pain**

**Made damn sure that Pilate**

**Washed his hands and sealed his fate, ha ha ha**

**Pleased to meet you**

**Hope you guess my name, oh yeah**

**But what's puzzling you**

**Is the nature of my game**

**I stuck around Saint Petersburg **

**When I saw it was a time for a change**

**I killed the Czar and his ministers**

**Anastasia screamed in vain**

**I rode a tank **

**Held a General's rank**

**When the blitzkrieg raged **

**And the bodies stank**

Rogue's hips swung to the beat of the song as she lifted the DVDs one by one and listed off the titles to Kitty, hiding a devilish smirk as best she could. This would certainly be interesting…

"We've got the original Halloween, the new Rob Zombie Halloween, Friday the 13th, the 2007 Hitcher, Silence of the Lambs, an' JAWS in the outright horror genre," the Goth offered, placing particular emphasis on the films she knew would scare the absolute daylights out of the Chicago born valley girl.

"No way in hell am I watching anything that _you_ deem 'horror'," Kitty huffed, remembering with perfect clarity the time that Rogue had convinced her to watch the original A Nightmare on Elm Street and she'd ended up not even sitting on her bed that night, irrationally fearing that Freddy Kruger would suddenly pull her into it like in the movie.

**Pleased to meet you**

**Hope you guess my name, oh yeah**

**Oh, what's puzzling you**

**Is the nature of my game, ha ha**

**I watched with glee **

**As your kings and queens**

**Fought for ten decades **

**For the gods they made**

**I shouted out **

"**Who killed the Kennedy's?"**

**When after all **

**It was you and me**

"Okay, then in the more cerebrally frightenin' section we've got: Se7en, Identity, an' Mr. Brooks," Rogue continued, almost lovingly caressing the case for Se7en since it was one of her favorite movies of all time, which incidentally also stared Brad Pitt.

"Oh no you don't! I've heard you talking about Se7en with Logan before… Uh uh, not in this lifetime," Kitty practically yelped, her blue eyes incredibly wide and looking very much like an upset 12-year-old.

Rogue covered up the subsequent snicker at her roommate's expression with a cough and placed the entire stack of those films down knowing that all of them would utterly terrify Kitty.

**So let me please introduce myself**

**I'm a man of wealth and taste, oh yeah**

**I laid traps for troubadours**

**Who got killed before they reached Bombay**

**Pleased to meet you **

**Hope you guessed my name, oh yeah**

**But what's puzzling you**

**Is the nature of my game, oh yeah, get down baby**

"All right, then how 'bout some supposed ta be scary but actually funny stuff? There's Jason X, Halloween Resurrection, Scream, an' Freddy vs. Jason."

Kitty visibly paled at the mention of "Freddy" and Rogue rolled her eyes petulantly but discarded that entire pile as well before her roommate could even begin her adamant rejection.

**Oh, pleased to meet you **

**Hope you guessed my name, oh yeah**

**But what's puzzling you**

**Is the nature of my game, oh yeah**

"For the not scary but just gory an'/or creepy section it's the 2004 Dawn of the Dead, Jeepers Creepers, the 2005 Amityville Horror, an' From Hell."

"Rogue you know I don't do gore…" Kitty began in a queasy voice.

The Goth huffed in exasperation but dropped that stack as well because she really didn't want to spend the evening holding onto the end of Kitty's ponytail as the girl emptied a stomach full of partially digested candy into the toilet.

**Every cop is a criminal**

**And all the sinners saints**

**As heads is tails**

**Just call me Lucifer**

'**Cause I'm in need of some restraint**

**So if you meet me**

**Have some courtesy**

**Have some sympathy, and some taste**

**Use all your well-learned politesse**

**Or I'll lay your soul to waste, oh yeah**

**Pleased to meet you**

**Hope you guessed my name, oh yeah**

**But what's puzzling you **

**Is the nature of my game, oh yeah**

"Well, that leaves Sleepy Hollow, Deep Blue Sea, Tremors, Tremors 2: Aftershocks, the 2005 House of Wax, Terminator, an' Queen of the Damned in the just fun ta watch category. So what'll it be?" Rogue ground out impatiently, emerald green eyes narrowed dangerously as she stood with one hip cocked sharply to the side and her arms folded stiffly across her chest. Her fierce gaze dared the other girl to reject that entire pile as well and see just what Rogue would do to her in retaliation.

**Woo, who**

**Oh yeah**

**Oh yeah**

**Oh yeah!**

Kitty seemed to rack her brain for the film that would frighten her the least out of those choices, face scrunched up in childlike concentration with the effort, and after a minute's thought asked, "Sleepy Hollow…that's the one with Johnny Depp, right?"

"Yep," Rogue replied a little too quickly, knowing full well that ever since the Pirates of the Caribbean films had come out that Kitty had developed a massive crush on both the male leads.

**Tell me baby, tell me what's my name?**

**Tell me honey, can you guess my name?**

**Oh, oh ,oh **

**Oh, oh, oh**

**Oh, oh, oh**

**Tell me honey, what's my name?**

**Oh!**

**I tell you one time, you're to blame**

"It's not too scary is it?" Kitty questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"Nope, it's not really all that bad. It's actually pretty tame," Rogue answered, fighting to rein in the naughty smirk that pulled at her lips and only feeling slightly guilty about the half-truth she'd just told.

The film wasn't actually scary, at least not to her, but it was directed by Tim Burton, meaning that there'd definitely be quite a few blood spurts and lots of morbid humor. That sort of stuff never did bother Rogue, but it would surely gross Kitty out. It was the perfect revenge for Kitty being her unintentionally annoying self in Rogue's mind; she wouldn't scare her roommate, but she would leave her with some wonderfully creepy images before bed.

**Ooo, who**

**Ooo, who**

**Ooo, who**

**Ooo, who, who**

**Ooo, who, who**

**Ooo, who, who**

**Ooo, who, who**

**Oh yeah!**

**What's my name?**

**Tell me, sweetie, what's my name?**

**Ooo, who, who**

**Ooo, who, who**

**Ooo, who, who**

**Ooo, who, who**

**Ooo, who, who**

**Ooo, who, who**

**Ooo, who, who**

**Oh yeah!**

Rogue strode over to the DVD player as the song ended, allowing a broad cat-that-ate-the-canary grin to spread across her face once her back was safely turned to Kitty. She managed to suppress a giggle by biting on her lower lip as she popped open the case for Sleepy Hollow and removed the DVD that was already in the player, replacing it with the one in her hand. She urged the player closed once again, and flipped the light switch as she crossed the room back to her bed, forcibly maintaining a straight face.

She snagged the remote off her bed and hit play as she flopped back down on her stomach then fished another miniature chocolate out of the bag. She chewed the candy thoughtfully, both eagerly awaiting Kitty's reaction to the film she herself selected and mentally practicing her best counterfeit innocent expression.

XXX

Nearly two hours later, Rogue quietly changed DVDs again, careful not to wake her now sleeping roommate. Casting a glance in Kitty's direction as she pulled back the comforter of her own bed and slipped beneath it, she grinned impishly.

As expected, Sleepy Hollow had thoroughly disgusted and shocked Kitty, and Rogue managed to look suitably surprised herself, although Kitty sulked for the rest of the film and shot her accusing glares until she fell asleep with Lockheed pressed tightly under her chin.

Rogue allowed herself a hushed giggle at the sight of a 17-year-old girl in such a ridiculously childish position. Kitty was stretched out across her entire twin sized bed with her mouth slightly open and drooling all over the one pillow she hadn't already knocked onto the floor. Her legs were tangled in her shockingly pink sheets and she was holding onto that truly hideous green-and-yellow stuffed animal like a lifeline. All that was missing was a thumb in her mouth and she would've very closely resembled an overgrown 2-year-old.

_What Ah would give ta have a camera right now… _the Goth thought deviously.

All it would take was one picture of Kitty like that and Rogue would have the best blackmail material ever invented. Chuckling softly, she turned her attention back to the movie she'd just put in. The volume was turned down low so as to not wake Kitty, but it didn't really matter since Rogue had this film practically memorized.

She watched as the screen changed from black to the statue form of Akasha and the foreboding music began, followed by the oddly soothing violins in the opening scene of Queen of the Damned. Casting a glance at the digital clock on her bedside table, Rogue suppressed a yawn. 1:45 a.m., it was later than she thought. Opening her eyes wide and trying vainly to shrug off the sudden bout of drowsiness that'd come over her, she attempted to tune back in to the movie only to sink deeper into that surreal state between sleep and wakefulness.

Oh well, it wouldn't be the first time she'd fallen asleep with the television on. Either she or Kitty would wake up eventually and turn it off then go back to bed. Rogue refocused on the screen as a montage of shots weaving through a graveyard with Lestat speaking over it began.

"_There comes a time for every vampire when the idea of eternity becomes momentarily unbearable. Living in the shadows, feeding in the darkness with only your own company to keep rots into a solitary, hollow existence. Immortality seems like a good idea…until you realize you're going to spend it alone."_

Rogue's eyelids fluttered shut and her head slowly bowed forward as the warm tendrils of lethargy spread throughout her limbs.

"_So I went to sleep, hoping that the sounds of the passing eras would fade out and a sort of death might happen. But as I lay there, the world didn't sound like the place I had left, but something different…better…"_

The loud crash of drums and electric guitars roused her for a moment and she glanced at the television through heavily lidded eyes, trying half-heartedly to stay awake.

"_It became worthwhile to rise again as new gods were born and worshipped. Night and day, they were never alone. I would become one of them."_

She began to nod off again as Lestat left his crypt and stalked through the dark streets of New Orleans, searching for someone to feed on and the source of what had woken him from his own sleep.

"_Whether it was that first meal or the hundred years of rest, I'm not sure. But suddenly I was feeling better than ever. My senses so high they led me straight to the instrument of my resurrection…playing in my old house."_

With the end of Lestat's monologue, Rogue dropped off completely into unconsciousness. As the film continued on and the Gothic woman fell further into the realm of dreams, she was unaware of the breeze still fluttering in from the balcony doors neither she nor her roommate had remembered to close. While the cool air swept gently over her, causing locks of her cream-colored streaks to tumble softly across her lily white cheeks, her face contorted into a frown at the cold sensation and she burrowed deeper beneath her comforter seeking warmth.

A long shadow suddenly fell over Rogue's sleeping form, blocking out the moonlight in the shape of a single lithe body. The figure stepped quietly into the room, shutting the balcony doors behind her with a muted click.

The woman, clothed entirely in black, glanced at Kitty for a moment, ensuring the girl was asleep and wouldn't require the aid of hypnosis as Rogue had, then sauntered over to her quarry, a predatory smirk twisting her scarlet lips. Her stiletto heels didn't make a sound on the lush carpet as she approached the Goth's motionless body. In the silver light the moon cast into the room, the woman's skin was as pale as Rogue's own and her waist-length, ebony hair shone like obsidian. Her blood red lips curled into a genuine smile as she reached out a gloved hand and tenderly brushed the white forelocks away from Rogue's cheek.

"Hello, my dear," she whispered softly, appraising the young woman's face with high esteem.

Pressing the fingertips of one black leather clad hand to her own forehead, the woman's dark eyes closed in deep concentration as she reached out to Rogue's slumbering mind with her telepathy.

"So powerful…" she murmured to herself, opening her eyes and peeling the long, elbow length glove from one hand as she moved toward Rogue again, "yet so young and inexperienced with your powers."

"You hide from your comrades as well as yourself, you suppress your deepest desires every hour of every day for fear of what might happen if you give in. But, dear girl, you must realize that one can only force themselves to be something they are not for so long before those hidden desires cannot remain buried any longer, or you simply don't want to deny yourself anymore," she spoke in a hushed tone, her onyx-colored eyes regarding the young woman with deepest empathy as she felt Rogue's own pain and emotions herself through their telepathic link.

She placed her own pale, bare hand on the Goth's forehead, continuing to whisper as though Rogue could hear her perfectly, "Let's see what we can do about all that, shall we?"

There was no absorption, no furious onslaught of memories pouring from the woman's mind into Rogue's, but rather an instantaneous connection, like two puzzle pieces fitting seamlessly together, as their skin met. The woman's lips twisted into a satisfied smile as she allowed herself to completely enter the young woman's subconscious.

The chaotic mindscape that surrounded her made Dante's Inferno (10) seem like a day in the park. Dozens of psyches immediately met her at the forefront of the young mutant's mind, all hell-bent on escaping into the real world or at least finding contentment in reliving moments of their individual lives as Rogue slept, simultaneously depriving her of her own dreams and any chance at true rest.

Various images and thoughts from those minds that she recognized as not being the one she sought flashed by her, and she roughly shoved the offending psyches away as she went deeper into the Goth's mind until she finally discovered Rogue's own thoughts and memories. She methodically flipped through them as though she were intently scanning a magazine for a particular article.

The easiest memories for her to access were the most recent, beginning with Rogue and Kitty watching movies; then changing to the Gothic woman blushing furiously as she contemplated her recollections of a devilishly handsome young man; followed by Rogue staring at her own reflection in the mirror as she timidly appraised the tiny black pajamas she'd had for months but never worn before; then the intense look of contempt she'd given Jean in the hallway, and continuing in reverse throughout the day. The mystery woman increased the speed of her search, watching as years passed in the Goth's memory, but remained vigilant for any information that could prove useful later.

Her smile widened when she found what she was looking for.

It was the night that Rogue's powers had first activated. She could clearly see the acute fear in Rogue's eyes as Cody wrapped one of his large hands around her bare wrist to help her up from where he'd accidentally knocked her to the floor. A split second before the absorption occurred, Rogue had been terrified, not because of her powers, she had no idea she even had powers at that point, but rather by a long buried memory the entire situation had resurrected.

The woman instantly latched onto that repressed memory, bringing it to the forefront of the Goth's subconscious for clearer examination.

Vague, half-formed images and snippets of angry voices were all she unearthed initially, but digging deeper into Rogue's mind using her telepathy to chip away at the meager mental defenses the young woman had erected in an attempt to block out an obviously painful memory, she was able to unveil the truth.

XXX

The stranger stepped back from Rogue a full minute later, a gasp pushing its way past her lips as she pulled her long black glove back on. Her features were twisted into a slight grimace for a moment before she reached out to run her covered fingers lightly across the sleeping young woman's cheek.

"You poor thing…no wonder you ran away from home. Well, it's going to be easier than I thought to control your powers, my dear," the woman stated evenly, voice tinged with pseudo-tenderness.

Rogue's expression betrayed a fitful state and the woman telepathically pacified the Goth, and set about banishing that dark memory to a psychic imprisonment, deep inside the young woman's troubled mind where it wouldn't bubble to the surface once again. She surrounded it with telepathic barriers, much stronger than the ones that Rogue's own mind had conjured up, fortifying her work with subtle post-hypnotic suggestions to ensure that when the young woman awoke she'd have no subconscious memories or recollections of strange dreams from this night.

Moving back from the Goth's form, she allowed herself a moment to take pleasure in her work. Rogue lay with a small content smile across her lips, enjoying a peaceful sleep for the first time in a long while. Crossing to the balcony, the woman telekinetically shut off the DVD player and television set then silently opened the French doors and strode out, her rouged lips twisting up into a malevolent smirk.

"You can thank me properly later, child." The whispered promise was almost lost in the breeze as the doors shut and the figure disappeared into the night.

**A/N: **Well, now that was certainly interesting, wasn't it? Ok, since you guys asked for it, there was the first chapter! Did you like it? Was it as good as the prologue? You have to tell me! I'll die of suspense if you don't! Yes, it is shorter, but hey it took less time to write so that has to be a plus! Anybody care to hazard a guess as to who that mysterious woman was at the end there? I'll give ya a hint, it ain't Mama Mystique (but y'all should know that already since Mystique ain't a telepath…), but hey I never said it had to be a **good **hint! lol ;-P **Please review** for me now! I **really **want some feedback on this thing!

Translations:

_Au __diable__!: _To hell with this!

_Maudit: _Damn

_Belle femme: _Beautiful woman

1) Tip of the hat to the comics as the state (specifically Cairo, Illinois) where Remy first meets Storm who eventually persuades him to join the X-Men.

2) Magneto's real name…major pain in the ass! His name is spelled so many different ways even in the comics that I just went with the one I found occurring most frequently. So please don't bust my chops if his name isn't exactly the way you found it spelled in one place b/c I can name right now at least 2 comics where his name is spelled completely different.

3) All referencing the events of and/or future events hinted at with the finale of season 4, "Ascension."

4) I couldn't resist having Remy use this phrase inspired by the 1963 film McLintock!, "That isn't why you sent for me. Let's get to the rat-killin'," said by G.W. McLintock (John Wayne) to Katherine McLintock (Maureen O'Hara). I LOVE John Wayne westerns and this is one of my favorites so I pretty much have to quote it! Sorry! ;-P

5) "I would kill, Michael thought, or at least maim, to get out of this house," quote from book 3, "The Seeker," of the Roswell High book series by Melinda Metz.

6) Season 3, "Self-Possessed."

7) I was watching IwtV not too long ago when I was struck by the similarities between Remy and Louis in that particular scene, and since so much of this story is inspired by both films from the Vampire Chronicles, I figured why not give the devil his due, so to speak. lol ;-)

8) If you've noticed, Kitty does indeed have a stuffed dragon in the series, which I'm assuming is a nod to her real dragon 4m the comics, named Lockheed, so I just decided to use that here.

9) Dorian Leech, I decided to have him be part of the X-Men because I couldn't really think of any other fairly young kids at the Institute to take trick-or-treating. Besides, his powers are **so **fun! The others are Jamie Madrox (Multiple), Rahne Sinclair (Wolfsbane), and Roberto da Costa (Sunspot), respectively.

10) Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy, specifically the portion detailing hell itself, often called Dante's Inferno. 

Thanks for reading!

Sassy18


	3. Chapter Two: The Morning After

**Forsaken**

**A/N: **Hello again my lovely readers! I'm completely tickled pink that you guys liked my latest update so much! Especially since I worried that it was little more than—to paraphrase Ron White—"a flabby hunk of whale shit," but still I thank you nonetheless for inflating the fragile ego of this increasingly neurotic writer. :-) Sorry it took me so long to crank out this latest update, but college has a bad habit of limiting my time to write while simultaneously sapping any spare creative talent I might've possessed.

As usual, italics are indicative of either thoughts or flashback/dreams (thoughts within a flashback/dreams are bold). The use of telepathy will be set off with asterisks and italicized, and translations from French and German are still provided by b-a-b-e-l-f-i-s-h DOT a-l-t-a-v-i-s-t-a DOT c-o-m and will be listed in order at the end of the chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own X-Men, X-Men: Evolution, or any of the characters therein. They continue to belong to Marvel and Stan Lee. I also don't own any of the products/companies mentioned in this chapter (Starbucks or any films/books/songs listed). Nor do I own the lyrics to "Good Girls Go Bad" by Cobra Starship.

**Chapter Rating: **Mature (Language, violence, gore, implied sexual situations, a scene containing mildly bow-chicka-mow-wow worthy content, gratuitous use of non-prescription drugs—which in no way, shape, or form do I endorse—and the depiction of a massive hangover… Get your pots and pans ready everybody! ;-P)

**Special Thanks: **I'm still insanely giddy that I've gotten such a warm reception! Please continue to review for me people! If you don't this fic could go unfinished and we wouldn't want that now, would we? I've got plenty of incentive to slack off (i.e., other fanfics competing for my attention, school, and my affinity for all things vampire in literature, television, and film lately), so be good to the writer and ye shall be rewarded with updates. And as always, massive amounts of thanks go out to y-o-u-t-u-b-e DOT c-o-m.

**Thanks Extended to People Who Alerted My Story: **ihavemymoments, jammie113, SailorNova007, flaming-mod, melissarxy1, Lady Dragon, kitsunegirl48, sakura5tar, tfobmv18, xcalisweetthangx, cara410, mm4ever2gether, The-Goddess-Isis, jadeDino, sofimac16, martshi3, Regin, Sweetbriar, Redunicorn2, and XSuicuneX.

**Thanks Extended to People Who Reviewed: **ishandahalf, deadsnowwhite (extra points for you!), Aly the Trickster, Darkness-Lightness, ChamberlinofMusic, SailorNova007, kitsunegirl48, elfeleroux (thanks for the advice on translations!), Rogue181 (yay for repeat reviewers!), tfobmv18 (you get a gold star for catching so many references girlie! Congrats! lol ;-D), Back-up'girl (probably my favorite reviewer so far! EXTRA bonus points for you!), Rogue14 (thanks 2x for 2 great reviews!), jadeDino, Wiccamage (thanks for another GREAT review darlin'!), cocopucks, martshi3, Regin, and orangebean.

** Thanks Extended to People Who Listed My Story as a Favorite: **Aly the Trickster, beautyandbrains2355, tfobmv18, Back-up'girl, Darkness-Lightness, jadeDino, Wiccamage, and Dixyblonderebel.

**Thanks Extended to People Who Alerted Me as an Author: **Aly the Trickster, ChamberlinofMusic, animerockstar, jadeDino, and amac1688.

**Thanks Extended to People Who Favorited Me as an Author: **Aly the Trickster, Rupeshwari, BrokenChain91, and jadeDino.

**Written While Under the Influence of: **Twilight (film and books by Stephenie Meyer), David Draiman-Forsaken, Mudvayne-Happy?, Clint Mansell-Dead Reckoning, Immediate Music-Trial of the Archangel, Debussy-Clair de Lune, Se7en, T.I. feat. Justin Timberlake-Dead and Gone, Cage the Elephant-Ain't No Rest for the Wicked, Iron Butterfly-In A Gadda Da Vida, Lifehouse-Broken, Timbaland feat. One Republic-Apologize, Finch-What It Is To Burn, Steve Conte-Call Me Call Me, Anna Nallick-Breathe (2 a.m.), NIN feat. Static X-Closer (Trance Remix), Chopin-Posthumous Nocturne in C Sharp, The Cranberries-Dreams, AFI-Prelude 12/21, Snow Patrol-Chasing Cars, Leona Lewis-Bleeding Love, Trading Yesterday-Love Song Requiem, Saliva-Rest in Pieces, U2-With or Without You, Evanescence-Good Enough, The Vanished-Favorite Scar, Cobra Starship-Good Girls Go Bad, Shirley Manson-Samson and Delilah, Garbage-When I Grow Up, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts-Bad Reputation, The Servant-Cells (Instrumental), Rihanna-Disturbia, Low Fidelity Allstars-Battleflag, NIN-The Day the World Went Away (Terminator Salvation Version), and Editors-Weight of the World.

**Chapter Two: The Morning After**

"_The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones."_

—_William Shakespeare, "Julius Caesar," Act III, Scene II _

_The wind howled in his ears as it whipped across the spires of the ancient cathedral, sending his thick brown locks flying in every possible direction. The windswept strands lashed at his forehead and caught in his eyelashes, forcing him to blink rapidly to remove the annoying obstructions from his vision. He flung them out of the way with a growl of irritation—not caring in the slightest where they ended up so long as they were away from his unnaturally dark eyes—only for his hair to fall back in exactly the same place it'd been a moment later. _

_Remy LeBeau was frozen to the spot on his perch high above the Paris skyline, the words of the feral man before him reverberating forebodingly in his mind. He felt the responsibility they carried like a leaden burden upon his shoulders. Two sets of eyes, both terrified and wet with unshed tears, were fixed upon him, nervously awaiting his decision. A third set, glaring out from beneath heavy, unkempt dirty blond brows, shimmered with the promise of bloodshed._

"**Only one. One necklace in exchange fer one life, his or hers. Choose quickly, LeBeau, we both know I'm not a patient man."**

_To further emphasize his point, Remy's former colleague allowed the ropes attached to the two people dangling upside down from one of the high towers of Notre Dame to trail over one razor sharp fingernail. Both ropes began to unravel at the contact, sagging for a moment before being roughly jerked taut in the monster's fist once again. A muffled shriek and groan escaped through the respective gags the woman and man wore at the surge of vertigo caused by the sudden loss of stability in their lifelines. _

_The man was Henri LeBeau, a squat 26-year-old who more closely resembled a linebacker than a thief. He stared with wide hazel eyes at his rangy brother standing atop the adjacent tower of the behemoth Gothic building, valiantly attempting to keep the unmistakable look of panic from showing on his face. The gag—which appeared to be a bowtie, torn from the collar of his own white dress shirt—was damp with saliva from his efforts to dislodge it from his mouth to speak. Apart from a nasty-looking purple bruise along his hairline that oozed blood from its epicenter, Henri was relatively unharmed. The blood trailed down his left cheek in a dried rivulet of crimson, while another path cascaded up into his hair, dripping fresh blood onto the street below. His clothes were a little rumpled from being hung upside down by his ankles with his hands bound behind his back for an extended amount of time, but otherwise the elder thief seemed to be fine physically._

_The woman, Genevieve Darceneaux, a strikingly beautiful French thief—tall and slender with long mahogany-colored hair and the clearest blue eyes Remy had ever seen—gazed intently at him, those transparent cerulean pools brimming with plainly apparent fear and hope. She was also more or less unmarked, save for a vivid reddish-purple handprint over the pale skin of her throat and a few thin cuts on either side of her jaw…where Creed must've grabbed her and strangled her until she passed out, his claws inflicting the cuts as she struggled. _

_An unexpected wave of protectiveness welled up in Remy's chest at that moment, exacerbated by the expression of unconditional trust and loyalty she fixed him with. Genevieve had always looked at him like he could do absolutely anything, as though he was her real-life Prince Charming there to rescue her from whatever evil presence wished to do her harm. But he wasn't the hero in this story; he was more akin to the proverbial Big Bad Wolf leading the unsuspecting Little Red Riding Hood right down the primrose path to her destruction and his pleasure (1). At any other time he would've enjoyed her unflinching confidence in him, but now her blind faith caused his stomach to cramp with the weight of the inevitable. _

_He cannot save them both. That is clearly Creed's intention. To make Remy suffer by watching one, or both, of the two people in this entire city that he cared about fall to their death because he'd included them in the job that would secure his place in the Guild. Logically, the mutant thief knew that even if he managed to make the jump from one tower to the other in time—because Remy didn't doubt that once Creed obtained the necklace he'd simply drop them both—there was no conceivable way that he could pull the two of them back over the edge, their combined weight would indubitably pull him right along with them. _

_Shaking his head to clear it of the negative thoughts, he clenched his jaw shut and glared at the wild man before him, his blazing red eyes livid and defiant. Remy would not give _**him**___ the satisfaction of resigning himself to Creed's will, he'd take the gamble and try his damnedest to save them both. _

_In some corner of his mind he knew that at best this was a fool's errand, that he'd fail and it was just a matter of how big a mess he'd leave in his wake, but he shut that nagging voice out. He focused instead on the hope he could see shining in his former lover's eyes, and prayed that just this once he could be the hero she believed him to be instead of the scoundrel that he really was. Choking back the rush of inadequacy that accompanied the thought, he stubbornly ignored the lingering doubts that continued to plague the periphery of his mind._

_He clutched the Etoile du Tricherie tightly in one fist, his long black-gloved fingers barely able to wrap all the way around the glittering face of the massive jewel at the center of the diamond collar (2). Squeezing his eyes shut at the wave of anger and guilt that washed over him, threatening to destroy him with its awful weight, he flung the necklace at Sabertooth. _

"_Henri…I choose Henri," Remy muttered dejectedly, unable to even glance in Genevieve's direction as he said the words that he knew would completely shatter her faith in him._

_It was a mighty bluff in a dangerous game, but he hoped his poker face was convincing enough to make Creed believe he intended to stick to the rules and play along. _

"_Ya want him? Come an' get him, boy, but ya'd better hurry!" ____Sabertooth retorted as his lips curled back in a sadistic grin, revealing his gleaming yellow fangs._

_In a single horrifying instant, a meaty hand closed around the shining jewel and the ropes holding both Remy's brother and his lover aloft snapped as Creed's claw finally cut through the twine. The feral man chuckled darkly as he turned and leapt down onto the shingles, his hunched form becoming a living gargoyle among the stone ones on the antiquated building as he watched the events he set into motion unfold, deriving perverse humor from the suffering of those around him. _

_Remy bounded across the lip of the eave and vaulted the distance between the towers, landing in a crouch safely on the roof before racing to the opposite side of the tower, eyes fixed on the two ropes dragging along the slick stones. Flinging his body halfway over the railing, his right hand closed around Henri's line and held tight. The mutant thief felt something in his shoulder crack with the sharp jolting force of stopping his brother's rapid descent to the street below, but pointedly disregarded it._

_Grunting against the ensuing agony, his free hand reached for the other rope, frantically gripping the twine and pulling as he locked his legs around the old stone railing, praying that it'd hold and keep them all from toppling over the edge. For a moment his prayer seemed to have been heard, but then Genevieve's frayed rope broke, too weak from Sabertooth's teasing to support her any longer. _

_Remy opened his mouth to cry out, but no sound escaped, all breath had been stolen from his lungs by the abrupt sensation of cold shock encompassing his entire body. _

_Genevieve floated in the air for an instant, as though gravity were reluctant to do its job, but then she fell; the baby blue silk robe she wore fluttering around her ivory skin like a doomed butterfly trying to fly after a child has torn one of its wings off. Her wide, terror-filled eyes locked on him through a curtain of dark hair, her expression as clear to him as glass._

_She loved him. Truly, deeply, helplessly loved _**him**_._

_To him she'd merely been a means to an end, a pleasant and wholly unexpected part of his assigned task to steal the Etoile du Tricherie. She, too, was a thief and had stolen the necklace herself long before Remy could acquire it. So, seducing her in order to get it himself hadn't weighed too heavily upon his conscience. _

_As a thief, she should know better than to trust someone she'd just met too much. Thus, what he'd done was a lesson she needed to learn if she wanted not only to be successful, but to survive. And he'd convinced himself that she was using him just as much as he was using her, only for a different objective—he wanted to get to the necklace, she wanted to get into his pants. Remy had actually thought it was rather fun at first, testing his seduction skills against a fellow thief rather than an unsuspecting civilian would be far more challenging. But he'd never imagined that Genevieve had been fostering genuine feelings toward him. _

_The two thieves had met only days before when he saved her from Creed while thwarting the feral man's attempt to steal back the necklace for its original owner, effectively incurring Sabertooth's wrath upon them both. Genevieve had immediately placed Remy on a pedestal for his heroic display, mistaking it as a show of affection toward her. Her hero worship had been so much so that when he doled out a few disingenuous compliments and turned his seductive stare her way earlier that night, she'd all but begged him to take her to bed. And Remy had done just that, already having planned on slipping the necklace off the nightstand and sneaking out of her apartment as she slept. He would've left her without a goodbye or even a single ounce of regret for what he'd done, because he didn't love her. _

_Someone else had already laid claim to Remy's heart and he fully intended to give it to her for all of eternity in a few short months when they'd be married. What he'd chosen to do with this young woman was just his final taste of life as a bachelor, one last capricious fling to add to the list before he willingly gave up his womanizing ways for a lifetime of commitment. And the knowledge that the sooner he completed this job, the sooner he'd be reunited with his lady love had made him impulsive, careless, and impatient, and now Genevieve—a naïve young woman that he'd taken advantage of so entirely—was going to pay the ultimate price for his shortsightedness. _

_He stared disbelievingly at Genevieve, mouth agape, wanting to scream her name, to beg her forgiveness, to do anything to take away the horrible reality of the moment, but he was too shaken to do so, both by her inevitable demise and his sudden realization about the sincerity of her affections toward him. He simply stood mutely, mechanically clutching the rope attached to Henri's ankles, unable to tear his eyes away from her._

_Bright blue eyes gazed out from a beautiful porcelain face and wisps of long brown hair whipped across her pale cheeks as gravity pulled her farther away from him. Even as realization dawned on her face that she was as good as dead, this woman that he'd used for his own purposes continued to look lovingly upon him. Had the sash of her silk robe not been tied around her mouth, in the same makeshift manner of gag as Henri's, he was certain she'd be smiling at him, her full pink lips proclaiming her love for him for the first and last time before she died. _

_Remy tried to look away in the seconds before she hit the ground, but his eyes wouldn't obey his silent command. Her body jerked violently upward when she slammed into the street, and he could see a dark splattering arc outward beneath her even from his high vantage point. Forcing his head to turn away from her body and choking back the bile rising in his throat, he finally remembered Henri and rapidly began hauling his brother back up the building, the agony in his shoulder protesting every movement. Creed's raucous laughter echoed maliciously around the thief and Remy was vaguely aware of the other man leaping his way to the ground with the necklace in hand, reveling in the havoc he'd wrought as he escaped uncontested. _

_Remy half-lifted, half-dragged Henri over the railing and let them both fall onto the roof. The older thief rolled onto his side, feverishly gesticulating at his bindings and muttering excitedly beneath his gag. Remy lurched forward and shakily untied the coarse ropes encircling his brother's wrists and ankles. His nerves were far too frazzled to attempt even a minute manifestation of his powers and burn through them instead for fear of accidentally harming Henri as well. _

_The instant his hands were free, Henri was clawing at the gag in his mouth while Remy exhaustedly slumped back onto the cold surface of the roof, arms and legs haphazardly splayed outward as he stared blankly down at the worn flagstones between his legs. _

"_Remy?" Henri croaked thickly, throat overly dry from being unable to properly close his mouth for so long._

_It was only when Henri reached out and shook Remy's injured shoulder that the red-eyed thief looked up. He hissed in pain and jerked out from beneath his brother's hand, the usual fire of his irises dull and his expression grim. _

"_Quoi?" Remy muttered, voice gruff with too much emotion._

"_We need t' go…dis is bound t' attract attention," Henri managed to choke out, trying to speak clearly over the tremors of shock racking his muscular body and making his teeth chatter. _

_Remy nodded numbly, shoving himself to his feet and cradling his injured arm to his chest. Once he was able to balance himself, he extended his good hand and helped Henri stand, all too aware of how shaky they both were._

"_Y' all right?" Remy asked huskily, face screwed up in pain._

"_Not really, but I'll live," Henri joked feebly, gently rubbing the raw flesh of his wrists. _

_A short, dry note of laughter escaped Remy as they staggered to the exit. They rapidly descended staircase after staircase, the adrenaline pulsing through both their systems from Henri's near demise making the usually exhausting trek easy. The duo had just spilled out the Portal of Last Judgment and into the street when Remy abruptly skidded to a stop just a few paces from the door, nearly causing Henri to slam right into his back._

"_What is it? We need t' keep goin'…" Henri panted, but then he saw where Remy's eyes were fixed._

_The taller man resolutely started toward the corpse, yanking his uninjured arm free from his brother's grasp when Henri attempted to steer him away. Remy almost fell to his knees and vomited on the spot as his ex-lover's ravaged body came into full view before him._

_Genevieve's crumpled form looked like a broken porcelain doll that a child had tired of playing with and simply tossed away, uncaring of where it landed or what condition it'd end up in. Her silk robe had fanned out around her body, the front indecently spread wide open, exposing her nearly nude form for all to see; her breasts and womanhood covered only by tiny scraps of semi-transparent lace—that Remy was intimately familiar with—fashioned in the same shade of blue as her robe. Both her arms and legs were still bound, causing her to lie in an awkward position with her chest thrust upward and her legs unnaturally bent one over the other. _

_Her head was cocked sharply to the side, those sincere azure-colored orbs of hers staring forever forward at him, all the light that'd once shined within them now gone. The gag had managed to slip from her mouth and now hung loosely around her throat. A scarlet stream of blood dripped from her open lips, drizzling onto the dark cobblestone street and mingling with the larger puddle of gore emanating from her torso. Her long soft hair billowed out below her, the wind-gnarled tresses forming a macabre halo around her as the blood that poured out from her fractured skull soaked into them. His breathing kicked up a notch when he noticed how her robe poked harshly outward in odd places, especially around her shoulders and ribs. _

_As realization dawned he was barely able to restrain the caustic wave of bile that welled up in his throat. _

_Those odd pokes were her bones, snapped out of place by the force of the fall, scarcely contained by flimsy layers of skin and silk fabric. Clamping a hand over his mouth and inhaling deeply through his nose, he attempted to pull himself together only to instantly regret it. A sudden breeze carried the putrid scent of blood, voided bodily fluids, and internal organs recently exposed to the air directly to his nose. The smell seemed to gain a physical mass in his throat, choking him and making him retch dryly._

_Turning his back on the corpse and stumbling toward where Henri had been standing, he suddenly found himself alone on the street. Confused, he looked around for some sign of his brother, certain that the older thief wouldn't abandon him._

"_Henri?" Remy called, his own voice sounding hollow in his ears._

_A crunching, popping noise, almost like knuckles cracking—only infinitely louder—abruptly sounded behind him. He turned on his heel, expecting Henri, and nearly collapsed at what he saw._

_Genevieve's corpse was pushing itself up onto its broken legs, struggling to stand on her fractured and shattered bones. It effortlessly slipped one slender leg out of the rope wound tightly around her ankles; the source of the sickening crunching sound was bones grating against one another, while the popping originated from the ball joints being forced back into their vacated sockets as she moved. Finally rising, this malignant version of a stringless marionette____lifted its equally broken arms, easily snapping the bindings on those limbs. With its arms free, the corpse reached up and wrenched Genevieve's head around on her neck, forcing it to stare straight ahead. Glazed over eyes bore into him and congealing blood continued to pour out of her mouth as it shambled on broken legs toward him._

_Remy staggered back in horror as the living corpse approached him._

_A wet squelching sound erupted from her mouth, the intended meaning completely unintelligible to his ears as the thing continued moving at a snail's pace in his direction._

"_Henri?" Remy shouted, panic beginning to creep over him as he tried unsuccessfully to get his legs to move, to run, to do anything to take him away from the abomination before him._

_Something resembling a laugh ripped through the wrecked body lurching after him, the sound little more than a liquefied hiss through bloody teeth. Genevieve's body increased the speed of its gait, almost two feet away from him now._

_He commanded his legs once again to budge, but to no avail; his entire body felt like it was made of stone—completely immovable—as the corpse finally reached him. Her cold, dead hand shot out and wrapped itself around his throat like a vice, soft slender fingers crushing the very life out of him. It jerked him forward and leaned in until their faces were mere centimeters apart. The overpowering stench of death filled his sinuses, making it even harder to breathe._

"_You may 'ave chosen 'im over me…but you'll never be rid of me, lover. You are _**mine** _forever now," the corpse gurgled in a horrific likeness of Genevieve's sweet voice._

_Red-on-black eyes widened as the animated corpse pitched itself at him, locking her body to his and clamping her bloody lips over his mouth._

Remy bolted upright, stomach churning with the movement, and barely managed to keep himself from crying out. The room spun around him and the weak light filtering in from behind the sloppily closed curtains pierced his retinas like ice picks. Hissing at the pain from a massive hangover in his head and wincing at the rancid aftertaste of strong whiskey in his mouth, he clamped his eyes tightly shut then scrubbed a hand roughly over his face, convincing himself to calm down and that the nightmare was indeed over.

A phantom pang flared from the long healed injury to his shoulder and his left hand instantly went to the narrow, pink surgical scar running horizontally along the top of his right shoulder, rubbing the mark almost absently with his fingers. The doctor that'd patched him up after what happened in Paris had diagnosed him as having a Bankhart lesion and a dislocated shoulder (3). When his shoulder had dislocated, the head of the humerus pulling free from its proper place in the ball joint, it'd shifted forward and away from the glenoid fossa in his scapula, tearing the cartilage that rimmed the socket. Or so the doctor had said. Remy had been more focused on the excruciating pain of having his shoulder shoved back into place at the time. The surgery that'd followed to repair the damaged cartilage had been almost as bad, leaving him with his right arm in a sling for nearly a month afterward, a virtual eternity to him.

But any pain or discomfort he'd felt would never be enough to absolve him of what he'd done to Genevieve…what he'd caused to happen to her… The guilt would always be with him, as would the nightmares where she came back to life for revenge, he supposed. But in reality, retribution would not come for Genevieve. Or any of the others he'd hurt. Remy supposed that remembering his crimes would just have to suffice as punishment for his sins.

Shoving his guilt aside, he forced himself to focus on the present. He'd have plenty of time to flagellate himself over that—yet again—later. Grimacing, both from the pain in his head and his shoulder, he took a deep breath then peeked out from between his eyelashes once he thought he could handle the barrage to his senses and assessed his situation.

A white cotton sheet had fallen to his waist when he awoke, revealing his bare torso, slick with a cold sweat. Running one hand through his hair and shoving the dark strands out of his face, he tried frantically to place his unfamiliar surroundings. But the disorientation of his vivid nightmare combined with his still slightly inebriated state weren't helping at all as he racked his uncooperative brain for a clue about where the hell he was.

A slim, obviously female hand abruptly slid across his toned stomach, nearly startling him out of his skin.

Trying to regulate his now ragged breathing, he turned slowly and chanced a glance at the woman's face, fully expecting to find Genevieve's decomposing head lying upon the pillow beside him. Instead, there was a very alive young woman, her long brunette hair spread across the sheets, sleeping peacefully, totally undisturbed by his rude awakening. Letting a relieved sigh whoosh quietly out of his lungs, he rubbed at his sore eyes, confused as to why he'd relive _that_ particular horror when he was in New York of all places _and _after his unwanted reunion with Sabertooth the night before. Noticing a framed picture propped up on the bedside table, he realized why.

The woman—Rebecca? Renèe? Rachel? Robin? Whatever the hell her name was—favored Genevieve considerably. The same delicate features, blue eyes, brown hair, and body type that'd belonged to the doomed French thief were almost flawlessly mimicked in the photograph as the woman that now lay in bed next to him embraced two friends and smiled broadly at the camera.

_Oh…dat's why it's Paris_, Remy thought to himself with morose humor. _No wonder fuckin' her drudged up dat mem'ry._

Snorting derisively at how completely his attempts at taking his mind off his problems had backfired, he slipped silently out from between the sheets, careful not to wake the bed's other occupant, and began retrieving his hastily removed clothes from the night before. Once he was semi-dressed, he noiselessly wandered around the small cluttered apartment to the even tinier bathroom. After scrounging around in the medicine cabinet for a moment, he located the holy grail of all hangover sufferers: Aspirin. Muttering a quick prayer of thanks that this woman kept some on hand, he unscrewed the top and popped four tablets into his mouth, washing them down with a palm full of water from the sink (4).

He replaced the pill bottle exactly where it'd been on the shelf and shut the cabinet with a scarcely audible click. Catching sight of his reflection in the mirror, he scowled at the dark circles under his eyes and his still slightly slick with sweat face. Cupping his hands under the faucet, he splashed a few handfuls of cold water against his ashen face and massaged his aching eyes with one hand, reaching for the hand towel with the other. Remy buried his face in the fluffy folds and sighed deeply as he wiped away the last visible remnants of his nightmare.

The mutant thief silently crept back to the bedroom to collect the rest of his belongings, mentally begging Lady Luck for the barmaid to still be asleep with every step he took. There was nothing more awkward than the morning after conversation, especially if the woman caught the guy already half-dressed and attempting to sneak out without waking her. That much Remy knew from previous experiences and he most decidedly didn't want a repeat performance of that particular situation. Shrieking and hangovers never really went well together…

Snagging his black sweater off the floor and tugging it on over his head in the same motion, he shuffled across the carpet to the desk chair by the window where both his duffel and trench lay. Shrugging the buttery-soft, worn brown leather garment on over his shoulders, he automatically pulled his shades from the inside breast pocket a moment later. Remy nearly moaned aloud in relief as he slid the dark lenses into place over his freakish eyes and the pain the dappled sunlight caused him instantly lessened. He carefully hefted his duffel into place on one shoulder, cradling the bottom of the bag with his hand to muffle any sound as he started toward the front door, immeasurably thankful to avoid a confrontation this early in the morning.

As the heavy wood door of the barmaid's apartment closed behind him, Remy was already planning out his day.

His first priority was coffee. The stronger, the better; although he ordinarily preferred chicory coffee to the flavored crap they served here, in his current state he'd happily choke down whatever they gave him. Remy would do just about anything at this point to clear the cobwebs out of his head and make the pain between his temples recede. And he knew that the hot, bittersweet liquid and Aspirin—which he'd already taken care of—plus a shower were the only sure-fire cure. The Aspirin would numb the pain in his head, the coffee would sharpen his dulled reflexes and drive away the incoherency of his thoughts, then the shower would wash away all traces of his encounter with the female bartender and his nightmare as the hot water loosened his sore muscles.

_Ugh… Why did hangovers always make y' feel like y've been run over by a Mack truck an' dat dere's a marchin' band playin' on de inside o' yo' skull? _Remy thought disgustedly as the cold morning air rushed into his face when he exited the apartment building and strode out onto the nearly deserted street.

After he got a shower and changed his clothes he'd book the next flight out of New York. He didn't give a damn where the plane was going, he just wanted to get the holy-hell out of this city—or better yet the entire state—before he drove himself crazy with painful memories. Remy knew now that he shouldn't have come back here, what good could possibly have come from it? Working with Magneto would be profitable, yes, but how would terrorism—even in the name of a cause that directly effected him—fit with his current routine of quasi-good behavior? Fighting with the X-Men over which self-righteous ideologue was the true savior of mutant kind—Xavier or Lehnsherr—and potentially endangering lives along the way, human or otherwise, weren't exactly on the short list of tasks involved with absolution.

'_M pretty sure dat when Jesus said t' love yo' enemies, he meant don' kill 'em (5), _he joked mutely. _Lil' late t' worry 'bout dat, but oh well…_

Chucking darkly at his own thoughts, he spotted a Starbucks on the corner of the adjacent street and broke into a light jog toward it. The instant the door opened and the musky, saccharine scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted into his face, Remy muttered a quick, "_Dieu merci!" _and pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.

The sky had just begun to change from a dusky gray to bright pink as Remy stepped out of the coffee shop and sauntered down the sidewalk, maneuvering agilely around bits of smashed pumpkins, streams of toilet paper hanging limply from trees, and discarded candy wrappers as he went. He already felt noticeably better by the time he entered the rotating front doors of his hotel and strode toward the elevators; his rumpled clothes and sunglasses just hours after sunrise earning more than a few curious and disparaging glances from the tired staff. Remy was almost tempted to give them a glimpse of his eyes just to watch them jump in fear of him, but he quickly quelled that urge. It'd be _très_ gauche to get thrown out before he at least got the chance to shower first.

_Now, after would be a different story entirely_, he thought to himself with a devilish smirk.

He drained the last of his coffee as he unlocked the door to his room, but the moment he crossed the threshold a stark white envelope lying on the floor caught his eye. Instincts honed in a world of blood-feuds and revenge-killings that not even Shakespeare or the writers of The Sopranos could've conjured up kicked in, his sharp eyes and spatial recognition taking stock of the room and finding nothing amiss. Muscles coiled and ready to spring into action at even the slightest sign of danger, Remy cautiously crouched down and lifted the envelope off the floor with one hand.

Urging the door shut with a booted heel, he dropped his duffel onto the lavishly upholstered chair at an equally ornate desk and tore into the folded paper. Within it was a single piece of stiff, thick stationery with a gold engraving at the top, proudly displaying the initials "C.F.X." Curious, but having a good idea now of who left him the note, Remy allowed his eyes to drift down the page to the words written in flowing cursive script across the paper.

"_Mr. LeBeau,"_ it read. "_Allow me to welcome you back to New York, although I am certain I'm not the first to do so. If you would be so kind as to grace me with your presence at the mansion this afternoon—whenever is most convenient for you, I will be well informed of your being there long before your actual arrival so you need not call ahead—I would very much like to discuss a few things with you. Please come to the mansion, I need not give you directions, but it would vastly simplify things were you to allow me to speak with you in person now rather than attempting to track you down later or trying to reach you via telephone. And I assure you that this meeting will only be to your benefit, if you so choose to attend, so please do not feel threatened. I thank you in advance for your consideration, and if you should decline my invitation, I wish you a pleasant journey.—Sincerely, Professor Charles Xavier."_

_Maudit telepaths jus' don' understand de concept o' boundaries_, Remy grumbled mentally as he shrugged out of his coat.

He dropped the piece of paper on the desk, folded his arms over his chest and stared at the letter with irritation plainly written across his features. He supposed he should've expected as much from that meddling, sanctimonious, 'can't we all just get along?' philosophy monger, but the Cajun thief absolutely hated it when people snooped into his private affairs. And Captain Cueball had obviously done just that seeing as how he not only knew that Remy was in New York, but also appeared to be cognizant of the thief's meeting with Magneto the previous evening. Did that mean Xavier knew he'd turned Magneto's offer down as well? Was he now going to try his hand at convincing Remy to join his little squad of do-gooders in training?

The thought was laughable, attempting to recruit a semi-reformed thief and former Acolyte over to the ranks of the good guys. Little Scooter would probably have an aneurysm if he had to work side-by-side with him. After chuckling once at the supremely amusing visualization of the young field leader of the X-Men having a total conniption fit over his antics, Remy forced himself to regard the situation seriously.

If there was one thing that could be said about Gambit, it was that he hated to be thought of as predictable or to do as he was told. He could almost hear his adoptive father's voice reciting an all-too-familiar passage of The Art of War (6) at that moment: _"Be extremely subtle, even t' de point o' formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even t' de point o' soundlessness. Thereby y' can be de director o' yo' opponent's fate." _

When he'd been adopted, Remy didn't even know how to read and, because school was clearly not an option with his eyes, Tante Mattie had taught him to read herself. And for nearly three months, whenever Remy wasn't learning how to crack safes or bypass security systems, he'd join Tante in the kitchen and she'd instruct him as she cooked meals or concocted a salve. The end result had been Remy being far more knowledgeable around the kitchen than most boys or even grown men would've liked, as well as accomplishing the original goal of him learning how to read.

The first book his father had given him to celebrate his new-found literacy was Sun Tzu's strategic masterpiece, The Art of War, and Jean-Luc had insisted upon Remy reciting passages of the book aloud to him on a daily basis. At the time Remy had detested reading the book, all the words he didn't understand the meaning of and the too-advanced concepts for a 10-year-old boy's comprehension had made him feel stupid, but now he was immensely grateful for his first education.

The philosophies and teachings of Sun Tzu had proved useful to him more than just occasionally over the years and had greatly influenced many of his core beliefs. And now was no exception. Predictability put him at a disadvantage on a multitude of levels—chiefly emotionally and professionally—and yet Xavier had managed to completely cut off any avenues of an unexpected action on the thief's part with a single, sickeningly polite paragraph.

Remy had never been one particularly prone to introspection, but he did acknowledge that his emotional issues with predictability more than likely stemmed from his larger problem with trust in general.

He didn't like people to think they knew him, or still worse, to actually know him. Because knowing him would mean they were close to him and being close to him meant they could hurt him and he was _done_ with being put in that position. After the numbers Jean-Luc and Belle had done on him, he only allowed a select few to get that close to him anymore—essentially just Tante Mattie, Henri, Lapin, and Mercy—while everyone else was kept at arm's length emotionally. Professionally, predictability could lead to a thief getting caught or even death if the information fell into the wrong person's hands. And his more than slight aversion to doing what he was told was really an authority issue that could be traced back almost entirely to his experiences with Jean-Luc.

_Well Dr. Phil, feel better now dat y've gotten dat off yo' chest or would y' like t' continue share time? _he mentally chastised himself then pointedly turned his attention back to the topic at hand.

Remy couldn't simply leave New York now like he'd originally intended to because that'd insinuate he "felt threatened" by visiting the mansion and, being a man, that in and of itself was almost enough to prompt him into going off half-cocked to Xavier's just to prove he wasn't intimidated in the least by the X-Men. _Almost._ But the Professor had also implied he was expecting Remy to show up at the mansion today, and that made him want to leave merely to spite the telepath for the presumption. However, Xavier concurrently covered all of his bases by giving Remy an open opportunity to leave were he of a mind to do so, just at the aforementioned cost of his own dignity.

Eyebrows twitching in irritation, he began to pace before the desk, shooting occasional sulfurous glances at that damned letter. Xavier was good, Remy had to give him that, and he sure as hell knew how to lay out a trap. He'd managed to appeal to just about every aspect of the young mutant thief's personality—his recklessness, ego, and gamesmanship—effectively painting him into a corner. He'd love to challenge the guy to a game of chess, it'd definitely be interesting to see who could con whom the quickest.

So the mutant thief had only two real options left open to him now: Ignore the potential hit to his pride and just leave, or do as Xavier asked and go to the mansion. A lesser of two evils decision really; he grimaced at the thought.

But then another possibility crossed his mind. _Xavier _wouldn't be surprised were he to show up at the mansion, but odds were that the _other _occupants of the Institute would definitely _not_ be anticipating his arrival. A mischievous smirk graced his features as he thought of how the proverbial tongues of the X-Men would wag were he to brazenly waltz into the mansion…which was exactly what he now intended upon doing.

Smiling triumphantly, he leisurely stripped off his sweater and headed to the bathroom for a shower.

Remy could already imagine the furtive looks and hushed bits of gossip that would accompany his grand entrance into his former enemy's home. The mutant thief was especially looking forward to the expression on Wolverine's face when he'd be forced to tolerate the presence of a man he'd once tried to eviscerate in just a few short hours. Remy was going to thoroughly enjoy intentionally getting on Logan's nerves; it was the least he could do in retaliation for what the feral maniac had done to his old trench coat. Briefly lamenting the totally uncalled for maiming of his last leather duster by Wolverine's claws as he reached down to untie his boots, his thoughts spontaneously shifted to a certain jade-eyed Gothic beauty that also happened to reside at the mansion in question.

Momentarily startled at the unbidden mental image of Rogue, Remy's fingers fumbled clumsily with the shoelaces of his right boot. It'd been a long time since he'd last seen her, and even longer since _she_ had seen _him_. He quickly banished the memory accompanying the thought, not wanting to even think about what'd transpired the last time he'd been in New York and caught a glimpse of her. Choking back the guilt and self-loathing surging through him anew, Remy pointedly redirected his thoughts back to the vastly more appealing subject of his _jolie __chérie__. _

His heart rate quickened slightly as he envisioned her: the soft auburn hair tinged with two ivory streaks cradling her delicate, pale face; the piercing bright green eyes; the small yet perfectly formed lips that seemed to be pushed out into a nearly perpetual, unconsciously seductive pout; the creamy expanse of her long, elegant neck that flowed fluidly down to join with the rest of her svelte curves…

As his thoughts focused wholly upon said curves, he had to give himself a deliberate physical jolt back to reality to prevent himself from spacing out—and possibly drooling—for an unhealthy amount of time just thinking about her.

His unusual fascination with the young Gothic X-Man never ceased to amaze him even after all this time.

He could remember with perfect clarity the first time he'd ever seen her. It'd been just after Magneto recruited him and he'd been given an armful of files detailing the entire current roster of the X-Men and Brotherhood to study in preparation for the confrontation at Trask's base (7). It'd amused him that one of the most powerful mutants in the world hadn't yet graduated to keeping his files electronically, and when he asked his new boss why, Magneto easily replied that he did, he just didn't trust Remy—a thief—around his computer files. While carrying the huge pile of files had been a pain in the ass, he had to admire Magneto's logic; Remy wouldn't have trusted him either had their roles been reversed.

Rogue's file had stuck out in his memory because it was so thin; only a single piece of paper had been within the manila folder baring her name. Her biography and vital statistics hadn't even taken up the entire page, leaving nearly half the paper blank.

Her real name had been listed as unknown, as had her date of birth, place of birth, and parents' names. In lieu of the missing information had been her code name; approximate age, 17 at the time; the city and state she'd been living in when her powers activated, Caldecott County, Mississippi; and the names of her legal guardians, Raven Darkholme, better known as Mystique—her adopted mother—and Irene Adler, aka Destiny—her foster mother. The final note on her family tree had been the name of her adopted mother's son and Rogue's younger brother, the X-Men's own blue-furred teleporter, Kurt Wagner.

The lack of information about her past had piqued his interest; it was almost as murky as his own, and he'd wondered if that'd been her intention because it certainly was his. Immediately after her obscure biography had been a single sentence describing her mutant abilities: "_Irrepressible tactile-triggered absorption of memories, thoughts, and energies of her victim—mutant powers or otherwise—which remain at her disposal for a proportionate amount of time to the duration of the initial skin-to-skin contact."_

It'd felt strangely antiseptic and more like a diagnosis of a medical condition than a description of her powers, but then his eyes had fallen once more upon the very first word of the sentence, "_irrepressible_." And suddenly the cold, tactless report of what was surely a curse had taken on a whole new menace. With that in mind, labeling it as a diagnosis had seemed all-too-appropriate.

At the top right corner of the page a snap-shot, from what appeared to be a surveillance camera, had been attached with a paperclip. He remembered laughing so hard he was nearly crying when he saw the decidedly Gothic teen after viewing similar photos of her preppy comrades. It was like putting a Hot Topic right beside a Tommy Hilfiger store; something about it just didn't feel right. He'd wondered idly how the hell she managed to stand being around the rest of the X-Men without trying to kill them all.

While Rogue was undeniably attractive, her unconventional appearance had made her stand out like a sore thumb from her more traditional looking teammates. Although given the condition of her mutation, he could definitely understand her choice of clothing. It was like the warning stripes on a cobra, it screamed stay away from me or you _will _get hurt. The implications of that thought had only made him grin like a Cheshire cat rather than recoil as he probably should've.

But the picture in her file hadn't done justice to the reality, not in the least.

To his immense satisfaction, Magneto had assigned him to be the one to take on _the Rogue_. With his charm, natural agility, and powers that could be used just as easily up close or at a distance, Remy had been an ideal candidate to face the X-Men's own tactile-based power thief. The challenge of going up against such a mysterious, powerful, and unpredictable mutant had been foremost in his mind until he'd caught sight of her. The unflattering outfit she'd been wearing in the photograph paled in comparison to the tightly-fitting uniform she'd worn that day. It'd accentuated every curve and hard line of her body that her loose, long-sleeved shirt had hidden in the picture.

In a photo she'd been merely attractive, someone that could turn his head if he saw her on the street but no one he would've dropped what he was doing to chase after. In person, however, she'd been downright mouthwatering. Seeing her in that skin-tight outfit had sent a string of lurid thoughts marching through his head and curled his lips into the lopsided smirk that usually earned him a slap on the back of the head from Tante or Mercy, depending on which one was in closer proximity to him.

Giving himself a mental slap of his own, he'd forced himself to focus only on Magneto's planned offensive against the opposing mutant teams; thinking with the wrong brain at this particular moment would only end with him getting his ass kicked. And that was _not_ the best way to impress a woman.

Once the foray began, he'd tracked Rogue through the deserted shipyard, quickly dispatching any other X-Men or Brotherhood members who crossed his path as he gradually made his way toward her. He'd known that he didn't need to worry about his fellow Acolytes taking her on of their own volition—they each had assigned targets of their own to attend to—but that wouldn't have prevented her from engaging them. So he'd subtly herded her toward the maze of tall, wooden crates standing off to one side of the open yard, ducking between the boxes then leisurely charging and throwing cards to get her attention, just waiting for her to stumble across him.

Her reaction had been perfect. Spying his shadow, she'd launched herself around the corner, one glove off in anticipation of a fight, fully expecting him to be surprised by her presence and instead finding him calmly waiting for her. Remy had resisted the urge to lean like a cad against the crate beside him and pretend to tap his watch in mock-impatience; he'd settled instead for plastering an amused smirk on his face and unleashing the full force of his charm on her. She'd slid to a halt in front of him, legs locking like a startled colt's, the determination in her fierce green eyes melting into shock and awe as a gasp pushed its way past her lips and she instinctively jerked slightly back from his close proximity.

While he could tell it'd unnerved her for him to remain standing where he was, she'd also been intrigued enough to stand her ground which pleased him. Remy had been using enough of his inconspicuous charm to have reduced any normal girl to putty in his hands by that point, and yet Rogue had only seemed to be a little shocked and mildly fascinated by the strange, enticing atmosphere he exuded. It'd irked him that she appeared to be so unfazed by his abilities, but he'd pushed that momentary annoyance aside and continued in his task.

Before she could speak or recover her senses, he lifted the card he'd been saving for just that moment into view, holding its face toward her: the King of Hearts. Yes, it was clichéd, he knew that, but it fit with the role he'd been playing. To garner her attention long enough to take her out of the fight and, this had been more for himself than for the mission, to test his seduction skills against the X-Men's untouchable, invincible ice queen. And what better to thaw her heart than a king?

While cliché, it'd worked. Her already wide eyes had widened even more, her sculpted eyebrows arching high on her forehead in a mixture of curiosity and surprise as he'd extended the card to her. Her eyes then became heavy-lidded as her hand—almost of its own volition it'd seemed—reached out and grasped the opposite end of the card while he kept his own fingers lightly resting on the other corner. Her expression had changed with the slight connection between them, softening and taking on a drowsy, wistful look. She'd blinked, and as if a switch had been flipped, her body shifted toward his as she finally succumbed to his charms. Encouraged by her surrender, Remy had bent slowly at the waist, fully intending on kissing her and knowing that in doing so he'd probably be pressing his luck farther than he ever had before, but he'd found himself perversely as attracted to the danger he knew all-too-well that she posed as he'd been to her gorgeous face and body.

It wasn't even his fault, he'd tried to rationalize to himself afterward, it was the girl's eyes that'd been his undoing. Deep, swirling jade-green near her pupils, darkening to almost evergreen at the edge of her irises, those entrancing eyes of hers had filled to the brim with a desire so strong it would've been nothing short of criminal to refuse her. But almost the exact instant he'd begun to move, she inched backward from him, the desire he'd seen before fading away, only to be replaced with apprehension as she went rigid before him.

Seeing her fear so plainly written across her face had brought him back to reality long enough for him to remember—and care—about the fact that kissing her would've been counterproductive to what he was there to do, because he'd end up passed out on the ground and she'd have his powers. And worse yet, his memories. Plastering a reassuring grin onto his face to cover the grimace tugging at his lips, he'd covertly lowered their hands—still joined on the King of Hearts—out of her sight, urging a very slight kinetic charge into the lacquered paper. He'd upped the intensity of his charm for just a second longer, ensuring that her eyes never shifted to the brightly glowing card in her fingers as he let go.

He'd backed away slowly, lifting one hand in a lazy half-salute before he turned and ran, fighting with every step the irrational urge to go back and knock the card from her hand. He hadn't charged it _that_ much, he'd argued with himself, besides she'd come back to her senses soon enough and toss it herself…_right?_

Guilt and dread had begun snaking their way through his abdomen, so he doubled back and surreptitiously watched her from behind the cover of a crate ten feet away. She'd held the card mere inches from her face and had stared intently at it like it was the best book ever written; his stomach had dropped to the bottom of his chrome-plated boots as he thought of the damage the card would do if it exploded so close to her beautiful face. Just as he'd been about to make a hasty last minute rescue, Rogue blinked and looked at the card as though she had no idea what it was or how it'd ended up in her hand. Realizing the danger the ominously glowing card must've posed, she'd reared back her arm and let the king fly seconds before it detonated.

His relief had been alarmingly strong seeing as he was supposed to be doing everything within his power to neutralize the threat Rogue represented in that fight, so why in holy-hell had he had the strangest urge to protect her instead? He recalled being alternately infuriated and infatuated with her for the longest time after that; infuriated because he couldn't for the life of him understand the suddenness of his interest in the girl, and infatuated, for well, obvious reasons.

Shaking his head as though the movement would banish the memory, Remy tugged his boots off but his thoughts continued to linger on Rogue and what she was doing now. He wondered how she might've grown and changed since he'd been away. He certainly had changed, so it was only logical that she would've as well. He hoped she hadn't gone too far away from the spitfire he'd gotten to know nearly two years ago; he loved her abrasive demeanor and genuinely admired the fierceness of her loyalty and commitment to the X-Men. She was resilient, a true fighter with an indomitable will, and best of all, an austere persona that'd made her the ideal target for his teasing and flirtations.

For the short amount of time the two of them had spent all alone in New Orleans almost a year and a half ago, an easy camaraderie had sprung up between them. After she'd attempted to push him out of a speeding train and he threatened to blow up said train if she did, of course…

Once they reached a stalemate in that particular situation and he'd explained the circumstances of his kidnapping her—actually more of borrowing without fully intending upon returning her if he didn't absolutely have to—they'd understood each other so well and so quickly that it'd truly shocked him when she decided to leave, to return to the people that didn't seem to "get" her at all.

But then he'd remembered how her luminous green eyes had sparkled all the more when she'd affectionately referred to the X-Men as her "family." So Remy had stood passively by and allowed her to go, because that was what she seemed to want, but not without first expressing his gratitude and admiration to her in the only way he knew that she'd allow. With his lucky card, the Queen of Hearts. A token that'd wordlessly expressed that he'd sincerely miss her and he wished her well until he could repay the debt he owed her for helping him rescue Jean-Luc.

And as his earlier reaction plainly attested, it went completely without saying that he also _greatly _ appreciated her physical appearance. Remy had always had an eye for beautiful women, but Rogue was definitely in a category all her own. She might've thought she was successfully hiding just how gorgeous she really was behind that heavy makeup and those edgy clothes, but they'd had just the opposite effect on him from the very beginning. All her efforts to push people away with a daunting exterior and prickly attitude had only drawn him toward her like a moth to the flame, piquing his insatiable curiosity and making him desire all the more to get under her skin in more ways than one. To peel away the layers distancing her from the world and expose what resided beneath her seemingly impenetrable exterior to his eager eyes.

Most girls couldn't pull off the whole all dark clothes, pale-as-a-ghost skin, and ultra dark makeup that the Gothic look entailed. They usually ended up resembling a long-lost member of the Addams family, however, Rogue managed to not only look attractive that way, but enticing and truly sexy in his opinion. He simply couldn't imagine her in regular clothes and makeup and didn't particularly want to, they just wouldn't suit her at all the way her chosen physicality did.

She was Rogue and her appearance didn't just say it, it screamed it—at earsplitting levels—and Remy wouldn't have it any other way. It'd be the worst sort of injustice imaginable in his mind for her to be anything less than what she was and he couldn't wait to see her again. To watch those gorgeous jade eyes of hers sparkle and flame as she spit a venomous retort at him when he intentionally incited her temper, to see her lithe body tensed like a rattlesnake primed to lash out at him if he got just one step too close to her, to watch her alabaster cheeks flush that lovely shade of pink as he flirted with her…

Feeling the electric tingle of kinetic energy coursing through his body, making the short hairs on his arms stand up in reaction to his excitement, he removed the rest of his clothes then stepped into the glass shower stall, a rakish grin firmly in place as he anticipated how she'd respond to his presence at the mansion.

She could be so happy to see him after all this time that she'd hug him, or—knowing Rogue—she might be furious with him for the unexpected intrusion and try to kick his ass. Chuckling, he knew that the later was far more likely, and he absolutely couldn't wait to see the outcome of their reunion for himself. Besides, if Remy let her hurt him just enough, he might be able to convince her to kiss the injury better… Getting a bruise or two in exchange for the opportunity to experience those lips for himself—and actually remembering it this time (8)—would definitely be worth every second of the pain.

XXX

_The breeze lightly brushed strands of her platinum streaks across her cheeks as Rogue lay upon her side in bed, the comforter tucked securely around her waist. The slight tickling sensation on the sensitive skin of her face roused her from a peaceful slumber long enough to realize that there shouldn't be a breeze at all in her bedroom. Suddenly alarmed, Rogue jerked her head toward the balcony doors. The French doors stood wide open, gauzy white curtains fluttering ethereally into the room with each gentle gust of wind. Her breath caught in her throat as she could just barely make out the shadowed form of a man standing on the balcony, silently peering in at her from behind the cover of the curtains._

_Freezing in place and hoping he wouldn't be able to notice that she was now awake and aware of his presence, the Goth tried to calm her erratic heartbeat, irrationally fearing that even the slightest noise would alert the mystery intruder outside her bedroom. But then the curtains fortuitously billowed into the room once more, the wind moving them out of her line of sight and granting her a fleeting glimpse of the man's face. _

_Two blazing red irises set against a sclera the color of the sky on a moonless night bored unabashedly into her own jade-green eyes, causing all fear to instantly evaporate from her system. _

**Remy**_ was standing outside her bedroom. _

_Rogue's heart continued to beat an unrelenting, feverish staccato in her chest, but it wasn't fear or adrenaline making her blood rush now, it was flustered surprise and outright desire. The meaning of the intense gaze Remy fixed her with was not lost on her even from this distance; his burning eyes conveyed pure lust and Rogue could feel her own body temperature spike in response to his heated stare. _

_It was obvious that he knew she was conscious but he made no move to enter the open doors, he merely continued to stand exactly where he'd been when she first noticed him, patiently waiting for her to make the first move. Rogue felt her pale cheeks flare crimson at the thought, but immediately began pushing the sheets away from her body, eyes never leaving his._

_Remy's stare only seemed to gain fervor when she slipped off the bed and stepped toward him, his unique eyes leisurely roving from her head down to her toes before meeting her gaze once more. His intent look seemed to smolder all the way beneath her skin to heat her body from the inside out, and she felt every single inch of her flesh eagerly warm under his fervent scrutiny. Rogue knew she should feel embarrassed or maybe even angry that he'd been so blatantly checking her out, but all she felt was a rush of supreme satisfaction at the knowledge that she'd been the one to put the wild expression on his face. _

_Her bare hands self-consciously smoothed down the hem of the thin black silk nightgown clothing her form, causing the garment to fall at full length—just barely skimming the tops of her thighs—as she stood motionless under his unyielding gaze. The cool and soft brush of the silk against her skin contrasted wonderfully with the slightly harsher texture of the black eyeleted lace adorning the bottom of the gown and accented the heart-shaped neckline plunging dangerously low over her breasts. _

_Just as she was about to move out onto the balcony, she suddenly remembered her roommate and sent a frantic glance toward Kitty's bed. Strangely, it was empty. The bed was already made as though Kitty had never even touched it that night and Lockheed was on his usual perch atop the pink pillows. Even stranger still, Rogue found that she didn't particularly care where Kitty was at the moment._

_Turning back to the balcony, she strode slowly out, the cool night breeze combined with Remy's unrelenting gaze sending a shiver down her spine. She stopped mere inches away from him, standing close enough to feel the warmth his body exuded but with a careful amount of space left between them to ensure that their skin wouldn't touch. She timidly raised her eyes to meet his, a million questions running through her mind, but the connection between her brain and tongue seemed to have been severed the moment their eyes met, causing her to merely stare questioningly up at him. _

_The ensuing silence was neither oppressive nor awkward as they both remained unmoving on the balcony, the breeze occasionally stirring the bottom of her gown and the tails of his ubiquitous trench coat. Rogue couldn't help herself as she finally allowed her eyes to travel over his form._

_Remy wore the same dark brown leather duster as he had the last time she saw him in New Orleans, with plain, unadorned black clothes underneath. His hair, unhindered by a cowl, was longer than she remembered and fell directly into his face and down the back of his neck, stopping at the nape. But she liked this new longer look for him, it was much better than that god-awful bowl cut he'd worn before. The slightly disheveled strands tumbling past his high cheekbones and obscuring his eyes only served to make him all the more devastatingly handsome in her eyes. Her fingers itched with the desire to run through his hair, to feel the texture of the longish brown strands beneath the pads of her fingertips as she brushed them away from his eyes. _

_His eyes—dark, dangerous, and sensual as ever—peered coyly at her through his messy hair. His irises flared a brighter shade of scarlet in outright amusement as he caught her so blatantly appraising him. She bit her lip to stifle the caustic remark crouched on her tongue about his arrogance, but also to combat the tightly-coiling knot his eyes had caused to form in the pit of her stomach. But as quickly as the expression of humor appeared in his eyes, it disappeared, giving way to the fervency she'd seen burning there moments before. _

_Remy's hands, bared to her for the first time, slowly but steadily reached out and gently grasped her hips, using his hold to bring her body more fully into alignment with his. Gasping in surprise and pleasure as she felt the heat of his hands permeate the delicate barrier of the negligee to her skin, her hands instinctively pressed against his chest to prevent him from pulling her any closer. Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt his hands change direction and lightly skim over her flesh, using the slick, silk fabric to his advantage as he gradually moved his hands up her body. _

_Applying the barest hint of pressure with just his fingertips, Remy traced over her hipbones and up to her ribs, feeling her body tremble beneath his hands with each ragged breath she took. Rogue's fingers curled over the lapels of his coat, clenching the leather tightly in her fists, when he let his palms replace his fingers on the curve of her waist and his thumbs gently brushed across her ribs. A sigh tumbled past her lips unbidden as his warm thumbs slowly and deliberately rubbed over each rib; she could almost feel his lips turn up in a triumphant grin at the sound. Distantly, she realized she could end the rapturous torture he was inflicting upon her, but knew that she'd rather die right now than have him stop what he was doing to her._

_She knew he shouldn't be touching her, knew it as well as she knew her own name, but God did she want it. Rogue couldn't remember a time when she'd ever wanted anything so much as she craved his touch at this moment._

_Her palms flattened against his chest when she felt the warmth of his hands reach the underside of her breasts. Inhaling sharply, her eyes snapped open, the irises a shocking, vivid emerald green. His dark eyes bored into hers, the hunger she saw within them mirroring her own. He paused in his ministrations there, his eyes momentarily taking on an adorably unsure expression. His hesitation seemed to be a method of asking for her permission to continue, so she ran her hands up over the soft leather covering his chest, feeling toned muscles tense beneath her fingertips along the way, as she followed the lines of his lapels up to firmly grasp his shoulders. _

"_Don't stop," she whispered softly._

_Her words were all the encouragement necessary to prompt Remy's hands into immediately resuming their journey up her torso, moving at a markedly slower pace over her body but with even more purposefulness. He didn't grab her breasts like she would've expected, instead he let his fingertips just barely glide over the side swell of each soft mound of flesh. But that dual feathery caress aroused her more than anything else ever had and sent a delirious rush of sensations through her body. A breathy sigh escaped her parted lips and her eyes fell shut once again as she tried futilely to control herself. She felt her breasts tighten and knew that her nipples would be poking visibly through the slight fabric; the thought sent a deep blush rolling across her cheeks and she ducked her head in guilty embarrassment. _

"_Look at me, __chère__." _

_It was equal parts plea and command and the sexy, husky tone of his voice compelled her to look back up at him._

_His already burning stare had somehow managed to increase in intensity with her obvious reaction to his attentions, his irises now blazed like twin raging infernos amid the night sky, putting the feeble light the moon cast to shame with their brightness, as they fixed intently upon her. She felt caught up in his stare, as though she couldn't look away even if she'd wanted to—which she didn't—as his hands continued to move up her chest. They followed the seams of her negligee on either side of her breasts upward, sending frissons of sensation through her as he traced over the narrow straps holding the garment in place on her shoulders._

_Suddenly his hands stopped and his eyes focused on the center of her chest. Perplexed and frustrated that he'd paused again, Rogue followed his gaze to the black onyx cross suspended from a sterling silver chain draping over her collarbones, the cross itself resting against the top of her exposed cleavage. _

"_Take it off," he ordered, eyes tight as he dragged an index finger lightly across the links of the necklace where it fell against her right collarbone for emphasis. _

_Confused all over again, she gazed at him quizzically but before she could ask why, Remy took a step back from her, arms falling to rest at his sides. Her body immediately mourned the loss of his touch and the heat that radiated from him. She suddenly felt frozen without him pressed close to her and numb lacking the feeling of his hands upon her. Her entire body ached like she'd been beaten; knowing how good his touch felt only to have it abruptly taken away was more than she could bear and Rogue knew then and there that she'd do anything to have his hands on her again, to feel the warmth of his body pressed against hers once more. _

_She reached forward and tightly grasped his shoulders to halt his retreat, then drew back and ran her hands under the dark curtain of her auburn hair to remove the necklace, all the while urging him to stay with her eyes. Her fingers immediately sought the tiny clasp at the back of her neck, the digits shaking uncontrollably as she tried to get it off as quickly as possible. Finally, the necklace slackened in her grip and she slowly pulled the offending piece of jewelry away from her neck, feeling the cool metal chain lightly slide across her skin and eliciting a shudder. _

_His glowing red eyes bore into hers as he slowly strode back to her, not stopping until their chests brushed against each other. Rogue shivered again, but this time in pleasure as the warmth of his body seeped back into hers. She suddenly felt the bare flesh of his fingertips trailing leisurely along the equally bare, milky-white skin of her arms, leaving paths of goose bumps in their wake. A gasp welled up in her throat at his touch and she waited, frozen in place, for the inevitable sensation of her body absorbing him with bated breath. She could already imagine him collapsing at her feet and the subsequent look of revulsion that'd undoubtedly be in his eyes when he awakened afterward. _

_But the inexorable onrush of his thoughts and memories never came. _

_There was no electric tingle of kinetic energy dancing just beneath the surface of her skin, nor was her eyesight suddenly infinitely better in the dimly lighted area. She didn't crave a cigarette nor yearn for something to occupy her always restless hands. The familiar sensations that she knew from previous experience would accompany the absorption of his abilities were oddly absent, instead all she felt was the heat and strength of his fingers lightly pressing upon her forearms. _

_With no small amount of difficulty, she wrenched her gaze away from his to stare in awe at his uncovered skin touching hers._

**How…? When…?**_ Her thoughts spluttered incoherently as her mind reeled with this new revelation._

**Remy **_was touching_** her. **

**Remy **_was touching_** her skin-to-skin.**

_And_** nothing **_was happening_. _At least nothing _**bad**_ was happening._

_Rogue turned her eyes back up to his, finally thinking clearly enough to form a coherent question, but before she could even voice it, his hands were moving again and all her concentration was usurped by the overwhelming need to just _**feel**_. _

_His fingers roved at a measured pace over her forearms, rubbed circles into the soft skin of her bent elbows, then dragged gently along her upper arms as she shuddered in absolute ecstasy at every attention he gave her. He took her shoulders in his wide, warm palms for a moment, tenderly massaging away the coolness the night had left from her limbs before trailing his fingers lightly across her collarbones. She whimpered in pleasure while he traced over each clavicle as they rapidly rose and fell in time with her erratic breathing._

_Finally, Remy took her face in his hands, thumbs softly stroking her cheeks, eyes dropping to her slightly parted lips. Her tongue flicked out unconsciously to wet them, and his gaze intently followed the tiny pink organ as it moved over her wine-colored lips. Rogue stared up at him, clear green eyes pleading. What she was pleading with him for—to keep going or to stop—even she didn't truly know. _

_He inched down toward her, bending slightly at the waist just as he had the first day they met, to accommodate for the difference in their heights, eyes becoming hooded as he angled her face up to his. Rogue's own lids grew heavy as she felt his warm breath against her lips and she sucked in a greedy lungful of air, eager to have the taste of him on her tongue. A low growl erupted from his chest in response to her action, the animalistic noise immediately causing a shudder to rip through her; she wanted more than anything to hear him make that sound again. _

_Her eyes fluttered closed as his lips brushed softly against hers, caressing her own in a warm, feather-light touch that sent her pulse racing like never before. Tentatively, she allowed her mouth to slowly move beneath his, relishing every single second of his skin on hers, but a part of her remained in a perpetual state of panic, fearing the inevitable resurgence of her powers that'd end their contact. Encouraged by her response, Remy deepened the pressure, parting his lips slightly and gently imploring hers to do the same as he tenderly kissed her upper lip then moved to the bottom. Gasping into his mouth, she yielded, allowing her lips to open and then shyly close around his lower lip._

_Groaning his satisfaction, he pressed his mouth fully to hers, all hesitancy and gentleness succumbing to the all-encompassing need to be closer. Rogue gasped sharply when his tongue slipped into her mouth and lightly stroked hers. Her hands flew of their own accord to his neck, wrapping tightly around it and pulling him closer. Instinctively, she tilted her head to the side to allow him better access as her own tongue brushed his, the sensation banishing all thoughts of her mutation from her mind as her knees nearly buckled from the sheer pleasure. _

_One of his hands moved to the small of her back to press her firmly against his body, the other sliding down to cradle the back of her neck as her head craned backward with the force of their kisses. She moaned against his lips and cupped his face in her hands as their mouths moved together in furious syncopation. _

_Rogue relished the feel of the muscles in his strong, angular jaw working beneath her fingertips, but the earlier urge to touch his hair was begging to be satisfied as well. Her fingers brushed his overgrown bangs back from his face as she captured his upper lip between her own, allowing her tongue to trace it lightly for a moment, before reopening her mouth to meet his. She smiled against his lips at how soft his hair was and buried both hands in his thick mane, sighing contentedly and feeling his own mouth twitch into a grin at the sound._

_She boldly thrust her tongue between his lips this time, delighting in the groan that rumbled deep within his throat and buzzed into her own mouth. Her fingers tangled into the dark strands at the nape of his neck, tugging gently to invite him to take this further; the hand at the small of her back insistently pulled her closer, his knuckles running with irresistible force along her spine and urging her to press herself into him completely. Rogue stood on tiptoe, arching her back and crushing her body to his while his lips continued to move frantically against hers. _

_The only sounds on the balcony were their own harsh breathing; the near-constant rhythm of shallow inhalations followed by deep exhales occasionally broken by a sigh or a moan. The hand that'd been at the back of her neck suddenly shifted and curled delicately around the side of her throat, his thumb caressing the smooth curve of her jaw as his fingers pressed against the rapidly pulsing vein just beneath her skin. Remy's mouth firmly closed over hers again, swallowing the deep, shuddering sigh that escaped her lips. _

_He pulled away from her all-too-soon, moving to hold her at arm's length while his eyes travelled over her form. Rogue stared up at him, panting as her gaze locked with his. She could see his own chest rapidly rising and falling as he fought to catch his breath, eyes wild and piercing as his hands tightened on her arms as though he was restraining himself from attacking her again. Her mouth curled into a smile at the thought and a slight twinge of pain emanated from her lips. She gasped in surprise at the realization that her lips felt raw from the forceful kisses she and Remy had exchanged, but she didn't care; they could fall off after this and Rogue would die happily. _

_Remy's gorgeous red-on-black eyes took in her hopelessly aroused countenance, unmitigated satisfaction burning behind his irises at the sight of her swollen red lips and hugely dilated pupils rimmed in deep emerald. Keeping his gaze fixed upon hers, his right hand left her arm and moved back up to her neck. His thumb found where her carotid artery throbbed in her neck and began to trace a heated path along the length of the vein. His dark eyes flitted back and forth between her own and where his thumb stroked, an entirely different type of hunger now reflecting in his gaze. She shivered involuntarily when he stared deeply into her eyes, the new longing blazing within his scarlet orbs pinning her in place as his lips parted slowly. _

_Her eyes were drawn to his mouth, watching it intently through the impassioned haze that hooded her eyes and caused a pleasant burst of warmth to blossom outward from her chest, cascade down through her stomach, and stop to tingle tantalizingly between her thighs. His soft, firm lips curled back to reveal perfectly straight, startlingly white teeth. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the pointed, elongated canines, but she could not—would not—pull away from him, even as she finally understood the yearning in his eyes. He inched toward her, giving her time to protest or move away, eyes boring unblinkingly into hers._

_He slid his hand down to cradle the back of her neck as he gently tilted her head backward, allowing him unrestricted access to her throat. Her fingers tangled once again in his hair as her heart rate skyrocketed, lust combining with fear in her veins to quicken the already fevered pace of the rapidly beating organ in her chest. Remy lightly kissed the soft skin of her throat before reopening his lips against her arched neck._

_Rogue gasped aloud with the exquisite pleasure-pain that surged through her when the sharp points of his teeth slid into her flesh, puncturing it easily. Her eyes closed of their own accord and her mouth fell open in a silent scream as his warm tongue pressed against the wound, hungrily lapping at her life's fluid while her fingers insistently gripped the nape of his neck to urge him closer._

**I make them good girls go bad**

**I make them good girls go**

**Good girls go bad**

**Good girls go bad**

**I know your type (your type) **

**You're daddy's little girl**

**Just take a bite (one bite)**

**Let me shake up your world**

'**Cause just one night couldn't be so wrong**

**I'm gonna make you lose control**

**She was so shy**

'**Til I drove her wild**

**I make them good girls go bad**

**I make them good girls go bad**

**What the hell? **_Rogue wondered distantly as obnoxiously loud, off-key singing disturbed the blessed quiet secluding her and Remy off in a world of their own._

**I know your type (your type)**

**Boy, you're dangerous**

**Yeah, you're that guy (that guy)**

**I'd be stupid to trust**

**But just one night couldn't be so wrong**

**You make me wanna lose control **

_Her eyebrows drew together in irritation as she finally recognized the voice interrupting the moment. _

**Damn it, Kitty! Get lost! **_Rogue shouted mentally, attempting to block out the dying-cat noise her roommate passed off as singing by focusing on the feeling of Remy's hands and mouth on her, but the sensation was already fading. _

_Wait a minute. Kitty? Why the hell was she hearing Kitty? She wasn't even in the room with them, was she? And why could Rogue no longer feel Remy's body against hers or his hair tangled around her fingers? _

"_Ro-gue!" Kitty continued in a sing-song voice, drawing her roommate's name out into two syllables. "Shadowcat to Rogue, this is reality calling, please come in." _

Rogue jerked upright in bed with a sharp gasp, the jarring suddenness of her awakening almost painful. One hand immediately flew to the left side of her neck, instinctively feeling for two defined puncture marks. Instead, her bare fingers trailed over perfectly smooth, unbroken flesh. She let out a sigh that was a mixture of confusion, frustration, and relief at that fact.

Heart still jackhammering wildly in her chest, Rogue blinked furiously to throw off the hazy blanket of disorientation that sleep had pulled over her senses. Her mind worked sluggishly to reconcile the abrupt change between the dark, insanely sensual feeling of being in Remy's arms with his mouth on her neck and sitting all alone in her own bed. She raked her fingers through her thick hair, brushing it back from her face and grimacing at the layer of perspiration coating the back of her neck and tops of her shoulders as it caught the strands and plastered them to her skin.

A dream. Just a dream, a mere figment of her imagination. That was all it'd been. He hadn't even been there at all. She'd been by herself the entire time. So why did the end of something that hadn't even been real to begin with leave her feeling so much lonelier than before? Why did the sensation of her own hands against her bare flesh seem like the poorest substitute possible when compared with the memory of his imagined touch?

Once again the overpowering sensation of loss threatened to crush her and she wrapped her arms around her chest in a futile attempt to quell the ache.

"You all right over there? Sounded like you were having one monster of a nightmare the way you were moaning and thrashing around," Kitty interrupted her thoughts as she cast her roommate a concerned glance but continued to bop in time with the music blaring from her stereo.

The Goth's head immediately snapped in the other girl's direction, just now remembering the presence of someone else in the room.

Her roommate looked like what could only be described as an S and M mannequin in a Barbie dream house as she stood there in her new uniform. The solid black fabric clung to the teen's body like a second skin; the sheen it gave off in the light resembling a cross between vinyl and leather. Normally the contrast of that outfit against the background of Kitty's bubblegum pink side of the room would've made her laugh, but Rogue was more focused on trying to keep the supreme disappointment and sadness currently raging through her from showing on her face.

She flinched as Kitty's words finally sunk in. Her heart stuttered a moment then resumed pounding at nearly twice its normal pace, each beat propelling a bright crimson blush up her face and to the tips of her ears at the implications of her friend's comment.

_So much for keepin' your emotions offa your face, _she groused morosely to herself.

Her jade green eyes narrowed to scrutinize the younger girl's expression for any hints of sarcasm or hidden meaning, a thrill of anxiety zigzagging up her spine at the thought of what else she may've witnessed. Finding only puzzled curiosity painted across Kitty's small, delicate features, Rogue breathed a slight sigh of relief; Kitty didn't know the truth about the dream.

The Gothic X-Man bit her lip and tried valiantly to stifle her disappointment at the fact that it _had_ only been a dream and, even more upsetting to her, that it was now over with little success. She decided not to focus on just how pathetic it sounded to wish for the continuance of a dream where she was being fed on by a vampiric version of a guy she barely knew. She didn't think her ego or her sanity could take that.

Her petite brunette roommate turned and hobbled awkwardly over to her own bed then flopped down onto it, leaning back and struggling to pull on the left boot of her uniform. Finally securing the black knee-high boot in place, she looked up and stared expectantly at Rogue.

Oh, that was right. Kitty had asked her a question.

Breath quickening with panic, the Goth desperately racked her brain for a typical caustic response that'd appease her roommate and cut off any further questions. She didn't want to even think of the squeals that'd erupt from the younger girl if Rogue admitted to having a romantic dream about anyone, let alone _Remy,_ or the gossip firestorm that'd spread throughout the mansion with lightning speed and sensationalize the incident. Her eyes flitted through the room frantically for some sort of inspiration and landed on her salvation in the form of the stereo still playing atop Kitty's dresser.

Swallowing convulsively, Rogue hedged, "That damn noise is enough ta make anyone have a nightmare, Kit."

She wrinkled her nose in disgust for good measure as she nodded toward her friend's stereo and fought to ignore the lingering sensations still racing through her body from the dream. Kitty rolled her eyes as she stood and gathered her hair into her characteristic ponytail; Rogue's comment fit completely with the Southerner's infamously cantankerous mood in the mornings so she immediately disregarded the thought that anything might be amiss with her friend. It was probably just one of those psyche-induced nightmares of hers again and Rogue never did want to talk about them with her, so it'd be best not to push it. Less was usually more where her roommate was concerned.

"Whatever you say, grouchy girl," Kitty shot back with a good-natured huff as she shut off the music. "You just don't know what's good. No need to thank me for, like, being nice and waking you up so you wouldn't miss your weekly thing with the professor. _Again_."

"Yeah, wouldn' wanna miss out on mah weekly crazy inspection…" the Goth grumbled acerbically, rolling her eyes as she swung her feet over the side of the bed.

"The appropriate response would've been something like, 'Yes, Kitty, thank you for being so considerate and taking the time to get me up while you get ready for an early morning Danger Room session,' but I suppose that'll work just as well," Kitty joked, appraising her hair in the mirror.

"Thank ya, Kitty. Ya're the bestest, most wonderful roommate ever!" Rogue sneered in her best imitation of the Chicago native's perky attitude.

The younger girl whirled around, blue eyes bright as she clapped her hands together, "Ha! I am _so_ telling everyone you said that!"

"Ah was bein' sarcastic, Kit," Rogue backpedalled.

"Like, they don't know that and you can't say that you didn't use those exact words because you _so _ did!" Kitty gloated with a triumphant grin.

"Ya let one word slip, Pryde, an' Ah'll tell everyone how ya sleep at night," Rogue threatened, casting the teen a deadly-serious glare.

"I don't know what you're talking about…" Kitty mumbled, a sliver of fear leaking into her expression.

"Hey, everybody! Did y'all know that Kitty holds this ridiculous stuffed animal under her chin every night like a security blanket an' drools on her pillows more than a newborn infant?" The Goth smirked wickedly as she flung back the covers and shoved herself off the warm mattress.

Kitty spluttered inarticulately, staring at her friend in horror and Rogue knew she'd won that particular round in their perpetual verbal sparring.

Her victory was short-lived, however, as her shoulders hunched against the feeling of the early morning chill on her overheated skin. She both welcomed and hated the cold that greeted her. Part of her needed it to erase the memory of how warm Remy's body had felt against hers, the other wanted nothing more than to sink back into her soft bedding and muse solely on the dream. But no one knew better than she did how much more it hurt to linger on the things she wanted and couldn't have. Especially since there was absolutely no way she'd ever get them and thinking about it would only torture her unnecessarily, so she quickly decided to squelch the dream and everything associated with it from her mind entirely.

Rogue would _not_ allow herself to focus on the fact that him being a vampire in the dream had made no difference to her; actually the whole vampire thing had been sexy rather than disturbing. Her gaze fell on her well-worn copy of The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance lying on her nightstand and her features twisted into a scowl (9).

No wonder she was having sexual fantasies about vampires. Glaring at the book, she made a mental note to bury it at the very bottom of her bookshelf and not bring it out again for quite some time. The sight of a familiar red and white pattern printed on lacquered paper peeking out from between the pages only added insult to injury and she pointedly looked away with a huff.

She could _not_ let herself recall how incredible his lips and tongue had felt against her own mouth and skin. Rogue was mortified at how infuriatingly willing she'd been to give him anything he would've asked of her—her blood or her body—in the dream. Anything he'd desired from her she would've been hard pressed to find the strength of will to deny him. He could've merely craved her heart and a moment later it would be bleeding in his hand (10). Before she had the chance to rebuke herself again, her imagination supplied its own two cents on the situation by conjuring up a visualization of how much farther they might've gone in the dream were they not interrupted, and Rogue nearly tripped over her own feet as she started toward the bathroom she and Kitty shared.

Shaking her head to clear it of the steamy, nearly pornographic image that'd taken up residence before her mind's eye, she felt her body immediately respond to her wanton thoughts and grimaced at her own unruly reactions.

The soft, thin cotton pajamas she wore now seemed heavy and coarse where they dragged across the sensitive skin of her breasts and between her thighs with every move she made. Rogue couldn't suppress the shudder of pleasure that the friction of the fabric on her too-eagerly-complying skin elicited. Embarrassed and frustrated with herself, Rogue trudged into the bathroom with her arms crossed so tightly over her chest that her ribs ached in an attempt to prevent Kitty from seeing her body's physical reaction poking through the cloth. She was far too worked up at the moment to even try to regain some semblance of composure _and_ fend off the cat-like curiosity of her aptly named friend at the same time.

Closing the door behind her and making doubly sure that it was locked, she leaned back heavily against the painted wood, cursing herself, her treacherous body, her stupid dreams, and, most of all, Remy LeBeau—wherever the hell that damned charmer happened to be now. He wasn't even in the same state as her anymore and yet he was still managing to fluster her like this. If he ever found out about it, he'd need to wear weights around his ankles just to keep himself from floating away because of how much larger his already overinflated ego would grow.

Growling a string of low oaths that'd do Logan proud, Rogue stalked over to the shower stall, clawing at the hem of her tight, black tank top along the way. She practically tore the garment off over her head, flinging it into a corner and vowing to never wear the accursed thing again. She wriggled out of the small black shorts and her panties next, kicking them both over to join the top in exile. Standing nude in the middle of the bathroom, every inch of her skin still tingling pleasantly, she glared at the clothes, torn between burning them or keeping them as a memento of what'd been the best experience of her life to date.

She closed her eyes tightly in frustration with herself and resisted the urge to scream. Her body had yet to calm down and the fact that the physical evidence of her arousal was still plainly apparent only served to anger her all the more. Rogue stomped into the shower, twisted the cold water tap on full blast and stepped under the spray.

She smirked with vicious relish as the frigid water pelted her skin relentlessly, forcing her body to cool down the old fashioned way. An involuntary whimper escaped her lips as she remained under the icy flow, ignoring her body's instinctive urge to shy away from the intense cold, planted her hands on the slick tile and held her face directly beneath the shower head.

As much as she hated the feeling of the freezing water assaulting her, Rogue knew she needed to be cold again, not just physically, but emotionally. If she were ice cold inside how could she ever get hurt? It was much easier to cope with the idea of a lifetime without the physical warmth of another person's touch if she were too numb emotionally and physically to even feel it. Remy could melt her both ways in an instant if she let him, but she feared that once she unthawed, he'd only grow bored and bolt, leaving her in a formless, lukewarm puddle on the floor. But damn if she wouldn't enjoy the experience while it lasted…

_No!_ Rogue sternly reprimanded herself. _Ya're cold. Ya're ice. The frigid, untouchable Rogue, remember? That's who ya are. Not some sappy, lovesick girl wastin' all her time moonin' over a guy… So just forget about touchin' anyone like that, especially _**him**_. He's not even here, an' who's ta say that he'd even want ya if he were? _

A chuckle of pure self-deprecation tumbled from her lips as she leaned her forehead against the tiles.

She needed to face facts. Remy was gone. He'd left her without so much as a backward glance in that swamp outside New Orleans and hadn't even attempted to contact her since. How much more of a sign that he didn't care about her did she need? If she'd meant something to him, he would've tried harder to convince her to stay with him rather than just giving her a soggy playing card, right? At the time, she'd thought the gesture to have a greater significance. The Queen of Hearts was after all his lucky card and—unless she was imagining things—there'd been some spark of chemistry between them that night. His choice of that card had only seemed to confirm his amorous designs on her.

Sighing deeply, she clenched her jaw, eyes turning cold and hard as emeralds.

_What part of 'no contact for eighteen months' don't ya understand?_ she questioned herself angrily.

He'd manipulated her into helping him, had a little fun playing with the Rogue along the way, and then left her high and dry. And why should she be surprised? Remy was definitely not the admiring from afar type, he was most assuredly a hands-on kind of guy. And that was why she was here, _alone_.

But despite what her rational mind told her, here she was, pining over him because of one lousy trip to New Orleans and a stupid dream.

They'd never work out, Remy must've realized that long before she had. A normal relationship would have difficulties without touch, but a relationship with _Remy_ and no touching? Hell would sooner freeze over before that'd happen. Hence, why she was here and he was wherever he was.

Rogue exhaled heavily but felt relieved beyond words as the feverish rush of arousal inside her finally dwindled down to almost nothing. But she still remained standing under the cold spray of the shower, forehead pressed against the cool tile with her eyes closed and mouth hanging open to release heavy, shuddering breaths. Her body began to shiver nonstop, but she made no move to extricate herself from her current position.

After a moment of reassuring herself that she was truly calm now, she finally felt controlled enough to allow herself to think about the dream. Maybe if she could just figure out why she'd it in the first place then she could find a way to forget the entire damned thing. Warily, she permitted her mind to go back over the previous night's events searching for some explanation, any explanation, as to why she'd have a random, erotic dream about a guy she hadn't seen in over a year.

She'd initially blamed the book of vampire romance, but she hadn't read from it in a couple days, so that excuse was out. Rogue's eyes snapped open as realization dawned. She'd thought about Remy while she'd been watching Interview with the Vampire last night. A relieved chuckle burst forth from her trembling lips before they unconsciously curled upward as she fleshed out the details.

Seeing Louis in a particular scene had made her think of Remy and in the film Louis was a vampire. Her smile grew even wider at the fact that she now had an entirely logical reason for her dream about Remy. Thinking about Remy and Louis at the same time must've wedged itself in her mind and replayed in her sleep, blending the two men and resulting in a dream where Remy was a vampire.

But why the full-on make out session then? She pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she tried to formulate an explanation for that as well.

Well, if dream-Remy had merely been an amalgamation of the memory of the actual man and the character of Louis, perhaps she hadn't even wanted to kiss Remy at all. Maybe it was Louis she wanted to kiss. But she'd recognized him as being Remy when she first saw him on the balcony…

With a heavy sigh, Rogue conceded, albeit reluctantly, to the fact that she wanted to kiss Remy. She justified it by telling herself it was just that she found him attractive physically and nothing else. Any red-blooded woman would think Remy was handsome and might idly entertain an occasional lustful fantasy with him in the leading male role, right? It was perfectly normal for a healthy woman her age to have sexual thoughts from time to time, Rogue thought vehemently, her temper flaring to life. Just because she couldn't act on her urges like everyone else didn't mean that she didn't have them. And who'd be more fitting for a frivolous sex-dream than Remy LeBeau?

She knew from the few vague, residual memories she still had floating in her head from the time she absorbed him in New Orleans that Remy gave a whole new meaning to the term "meaningless fling," so perhaps her dream had been just that. A one-time, inconsequential fantasy which had no deeper meaning than that and she shouldn't read too much into it.

Smiling in satisfaction at finally quelling the unwanted idea that her dream was somehow significant, Rogue turned on the hot water and adjusted the shower to a nice, warm temperature. She reached for her body wash and the mint-green mesh pouf she kept in the shower, squirted some of the scented liquid onto the fluffy mesh, then worked up a lather.

As she bathed and washed her hair, she found it easier than she would've initially thought to keep her mind occupied with anything other than the dream or the man who'd starred in it. Not counting the dream, she felt exceptionally good. Somehow she felt more rested than she ever had before, which was odd considering the late hour that she'd most likely fallen asleep at and how early she'd been awakened. Rinsing the conditioner from her hair, her thoughts drifted to why it was usually impossible for her to sleep peacefully.

During the day, the other minds imprisoned within her own were usually just an annoying buzzing sound at the back of her mind that occasionally escalated to a fully formed thought or impulse leaking through into the forefront of her thoughts, but with some concentration Rogue could shove them back into their rightful place. At night, however, the tables turned.

As her focus waned along with her consciousness, the psyches gained the upper hand. Without fail, the absorbed psyches in her mind would either inopportunely chose to make their presence known quite insistently just as her head hit the pillow or they'd decide to turn her subconscious into their own mental playground, showcasing their own memories, dreams, and/or nightmares in lieu of Rogue's own. That aspect of her power made restful sleep something that was virtually unattainable for her.

As she exited the shower stall and wrapped a fluffy towel around her torso, the realization that the dream had been _hers_ hit her like a blow to the gut.

Rogue stared wide-eyed at her reflection in the mirror, hair hanging in bi-colored, dripping wet tendrils over her shoulders and one hand frozen in place where it'd been poised to reach across the sink for her comb. She barely noticed the rapid acceleration of her breathing, too busy frantically trying to remember exactly when the last time had been that she'd actually had a dream of her own. Her forehead scrunched up in concentration with the effort, but to no avail. She couldn't recall what the specific date was but knew that it'd been after Apocalypse drained her mind of all the personas and powers she'd absorbed while under Mesmero's control to resurrect the ancient mutant (11).

Shivering involuntarily at the thought, she swallowed hard and lifted her comb with a shaking hand to begin the always arduous task of untangling her hair. There had to be some logical explanation for her suddenly having a dream of her own while also having multiple absorbed psyches still in residence within her mind.

She should probably bring it up to the professor during their session later, but Rogue didn't relish the thought of talking about her dream with anyone, let alone Xavier. Wincing, both at the sensation of her hair pulling painfully against the teeth of the comb and at the idea of discussing the specifics of her dream with the professor, the Goth worried her lower lip with her teeth and hoped—with little likelihood of her hope coming to fruition—that he wouldn't ask her to elaborate on what exactly her dream had been about.

She bit down on her lip hard enough to almost draw blood as it dawned on her that not only had she had a dream of her own, but that her thoughts had all been her own since she'd first awoken. Breath quickening involuntarily, she closed her eyes and concentrated on tuning out everything around her, focusing all her attention inward so that she might better hear the voices of the psyches within her mind.

The cacophonous babble of voices that she usually tried so hard to block out was noticeably absent from the forefront of her thoughts. After a few seconds that seemed more like hours, she finally caught some faint, distant whispers from the collected psyches. But they were so quiet and deep within her mind that Rogue could barely understand them.

Hope, an alarmingly strong and unfamiliar emotion to her, suddenly welled up in her chest.

Rogue knew she shouldn't jump to the conclusion that just because the psyches had been quiet without any conscious intervention on her part and she'd had a dream of her own, that she might somehow be any closer to controlling her power, but the young Gothic woman couldn't entirely quell the jittery, elated feeling spreading rapidly through her. Suddenly she was exceedingly eager to see the professor; surely he could give her an explanation as to what these new developments meant for her.

Nearly five minutes later, Rogue emerged from the bathroom, skin still a rosy pink hue—from the heat of the water and her own excited blush—and cast a cautious look around the room, ensuring Kitty was nowhere near her before she chanced entering their shared quarters to get dressed. And for the first time, it wasn't fear of her powers that was foremost in her mind. She didn't want to face anymore questions about her "nightmare" that Kitty might ask and waste even a single second on anything other than getting ready to meet Xavier. Sighing in relief when she found no sign of the talkative brunette in the room, Rogue rapidly approached her dresser, removing a black bra and matching pair of panties from her top drawer.

Pulling them on quickly, she abandoned her towel on her bed and strode over to her closet. Immensely glad for the cooler weather that made covering every inch of her skin so much easier to deal with—and trying vainly not to fantasize about no longer having to do so in the near future—she grabbed her favorite pair of dark blue jeans with holes worn into the knees and over the thighs off a hanger then tugged them on. Reaching back into the wardrobe, Rogue pushed the endless sea of darkly-colored fabrics around, pursing her lips as she tried to decide what else to wear.

In more of a mood for comfort than style, she gave a what-the-hell-shrug and snagged her Lynyrd Skynyrd 1978 Tour T-shirt off the rack and pulled it on over her shoulders. She rarely wore it anymore because it'd been one of the many casualties from the last time Kitty did the laundry. That debacle had left the short-sleeved black shirt incredibly tight across her bust and caused the bottom to fall just mere inches below the underside of her breasts, leaving her pale abdomen entirely exposed. She yanked impatiently at the T's hem until it lay smoothly against her flat stomach then pulled a long-sleeved, transparent black mesh top on over the half-shirt.

She grabbed a pair of black combat boots off the bottom of the wardrobe a moment later, donning them quickly over a pair of socks. Finally clothed, she turned her attention to her makeup. Rogue was tempted to go without for time's sake, but she always felt naked without it. Once her face was adorned with its usual complement of deep blue eye shadow, black eyeliner and mascara, then finished off with dark purple lipstick, she quickly dried her hair. She scrounged through her jewelry box for her watch then turned to leave, forgetting to close the small mahogany box in her haste to exit the bedroom, pulling on a pair of black leather gloves along the way.

She was still adjusting the lip of the glove around her left wrist when she stopped outside the professor's office a minute later. Inhaling deeply so that it'd be less obvious she'd practically ran the entire way there, she fought to rein in the anticipatory smile curling her lips and raised her covered knuckles to the wood.

After knocking once and getting no response, she peeled back the top of her right glove and checked her watch. She wasn't late. She knocked again then tried the knob. It turned easily under her hand so she pushed the door open and entered, calling, "Professor?"

Rogue skidded to a stop barely a few steps into the room at the sight that greeted her.

Charles Xavier sat in his wheelchair behind one arm of the long, low chesterfield sofa positioned against one wall with Jean Grey lying perfectly horizontal and floating nearly two feet in the air over the couch. The older man's hands were placed on either side of the woman's head while her long, fire-red hair whipped and rippled wildly in snake-like tendrils around her in a telekinesis-induced wind. The female telepath's eyes were clenched tightly shut and her forehead was deeply creased with acute concentration; the professor's face shared a similar expression.

Finally recovering from the shock of seeing her teammate hanging mid-air, Rogue cleared her throat and shuffled her feet uneasily, unsure of what she should do. She knew they were doing something psychically but had no clue as to how her interruption would affect them. Should she just leave, or would that only make things worse? The last time Rogue had seen the young telepath levitate like that was nearly three years ago when her mental abilities increased beyond her control. Did that mean Jean's powers were acting up again?

After a few minutes had passed with no reaction to her presence from either of the room's other occupants, Rogue decided to try to get their attention once more and if it failed again, she'd leave and come back later. She swallowed hard to counteract the lump that the thought of leaving with her hopes dashed formed in her throat, but resolved to follow through with her plan. The more selfish desire for immediate assistance for her own problems was momentarily overshadowed by concern for her teammate.

She rapped her knuckles loudly on the door frame and called, "Um, Professor Xavier?"

His left eyebrow twitched in response then he finally seemed to come back to himself. His eyes opened slowly and he lowered his hands into his suit-clad lap. He scrubbed one hand over his face and for a moment he appeared utterly exhausted. Then the professor's gaze flickered in her direction and he looked temporarily puzzled as he noticed her standing in the room for the first time.

"Rogue, what are you doing here?" he asked in his characteristically calm voice, idly smoothing his fingers over his tie.

"Today's mah weekly appointment, Professor," Rogue replied, her expression a mix of embarrassment and confusion.

"Oh! You'll have to forgive me, but it completely slipped my mind," Xavier said, looking properly abashed himself.

"Uh, Professor, shouldn' ya get her down now?" the Goth questioned, jerking her chin toward Jean's still suspended form.

He returned his attention to where the redheaded telepath continued to float, her expression much more peaceful than it'd been moments before.

"Of course," he muttered quickly, touching Jean's forehead lightly with one hand while resting the other against his own temple.

Almost immediately, Jean began to descend, the professor's hand remaining in contact with her until she lay flat on the soft leather surface of the sofa. A moment later her green eyes fluttered open and she slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, one hand absently massaging her forehead. Xavier watched her with obvious concern and Rogue got the sneaking suspicion that she was witnessing something she wasn't supposed to see. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and clasped her gloved hands tightly together, nervous but still anxious for the opportunity to speak to the older telepath.

Jean's head snapped in Rogue's direction, cheeks flaring vibrant crimson before she quickly ducked behind the curtain of her long flame-red hair. Now Rogue _knew_ that she wasn't supposed to be seeing this.

A lengthy tense silence descended upon the trio, none of them really knowing what to say nor particularly wanting to be the first to speak. Xavier kept shooting glances in Jean's direction, a slight frown on his face; Jean's gaze was resolutely turned downward, the telepath continuing to use her hair to shield her face; Rogue's eyes flickered from the professor to Jean and back, trying futilely to figure out what exactly it was that she'd just interrupted.

"Would ya like meh ta wait outside till y'all are done, Professor?" Rogue finally offered, unable to stand waiting any longer.

"Actually Rogue, Jean and I have not yet finished here. So you'd be waiting for a considerable amount of time," he replied, folding his hands into the steepled position that appeared to be his default pose when speaking.

"Okay, um, could Ah come back ta see ya this afternoon then?" the Southerner tried again, her gloved hands unconsciously winding themselves one around the other in an odd sort of dance, betraying her impatience with the situation.

"I'm sorry, but I have a very important appointment this afternoon and my schedule is full for the rest of the day. The psyches don't seem restless today. Can it wait until next week's session?"

Rogue stood there motionless, fighting the urge to gape at Xavier in open-mouthed shock. She'd never heard the professor be so short with anyone, let alone one of his students. He couldn't have stunned her more had he slapped her across the face. As the surprise of his tactless words wore off and it sunk in that she was being unceremoniously kicked out, she abruptly felt tears prickling behind her eyes.

_Oh, hell no, _Rogue thought in absolute horror. _This was _**not**_ happenin'._

She wasn't about to break down and cry in front of them like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum. Face flushing with embarrassment and anger, she blinked rapidly to prevent the tears from flowing down her face. Rogue swallowed hard and, not trusting her voice to remain steady, simply nodded.

"I'll see you then," the professor said, gesturing with one hand to the door and effectively ending the conversation before she could even attempt to speak again—had she actually been able to do so.

Rogue turned on her heel, eyes downcast from Xavier, but as she started toward the door she was unable to resist glaring at Jean.

Jean had stolen her time with Professor Xavier away from her and now _she _was the one being forced to leave. Perfect Jean just had to have a little problem on the one day that Rogue truly needed to speak with him. A bitter smile twisted her lips at the thought, but then an idea popped into her head and she narrowed her eyes in concentration.

_Course the professor would drop everythin' just for ya, Jean. Ya are his favorite after all, an' that's got its advantages, doesn' it? Ya don't have ta wait your damn turn like the rest of us mere mortals, _ Rogue thought pointedly in Jean's direction.

Normally she fought to not project her thoughts and emotions when she was around the mansion's resident telepaths, but at the moment she wanted nothing more than to have Jean feel every bit of her displeasure with her. Rogue knew it was petty, but her intuition told her this was all the female telepath's fault so she felt absolutely no guilt in intentionally directing her harsh thoughts toward Jean.

The red-haired telepath kept her eyes focused on her hands in her lap, but the Goth saw her shoulders hunch reflexively inward as though she were flinching away from a physical blow, and knew that Jean had heard her thoughts.

Seeing the other woman's discomfort gave her a fleeting sense of satisfaction, but she was still too filled with righteous indignation to glean any lasting pleasure from the telepath's pain. Instead, Rogue felt her lips curl back in a sneer of contempt as she quickly strode past the sofa where Jean sat, the threat of tears still burning behind her eyes.

It took all of her self-control to not slam the door behind her as she exited the room. However, she didn't even attempt to resist the urge to sprint down the hall, wanting to be as far away from that room as possible when her anger faded and the tears spilled over.

The moment the door clicked quietly shut behind Rogue, Jean dropped her head into her hands, a loud groan escaping her lips. A haggardness the other X-Man hadn't noticed before displaying itself prominently through the frail gesture.

Her always immaculately styled, vibrant red hair was uncombed and dull as it fell limply past her shoulders and brushed against the small of her back. Dark circles rimmed her green eyes and made her cosmetics-free skin appear so pale it was almost transparent. A wrinkled baby-blue T-shirt emblazoned with the initials of New York University over her right breast clothed her torso while a pair of gray sweatpants were messily tied at her waist. The ensemble appeared to be what she'd slept in and wearing that beyond the confines of her bedroom by itself was appalling considering her usual standard of dress.

The young woman now sitting in a huddled ball on the leather sofa wasn't even a shadow of the beautiful, refined creature that was Jean Grey.

"Jean?" Xavier began, concern furrowing his brow. "What's wrong?"

_*Don't tell me you didn't hear that, Professor,* _Jean projected, too tired to speak as she wearily lifted her head to stare up at him.

She shuddered for a moment under the weight of the lingering psychic echoes of Rogue's anger wafting about the room, before forcing herself to sit upright. She squared her shoulders and Xavier could actually see her rebuilding her usually impeccable, composed exterior.

_*She hates me. And no matter what I do, I only seem to make it worse. Even if I try to apologize for this later, it won't help. And you making her leave like that and having me stay—*_

"From what I heard in her thoughts, Rogue is fine," he interrupted, raising a hand to halt Jean's telepathic lamentation. "There was a sense of urgency in her, I admit, but the psyches were utterly calm. If she were truly in any sort of danger one of us would have felt it. And _I _ made the decision to dismiss her, not you, Jean. You came to me with a problem that needed my immediate attention and I had to make a choice about who needed me most. Rogue was not experiencing a crisis or in any immediate danger, so I determined that you were the priority."

Jean sighed heavily, but nodded her agreement.

"I just wish that I could do the right thing where she was concerned, just once. Like just now. I had no idea that this was the time she usually meets with you, but she'll never believe that. I'm sure she thinks I picked this time to talk to you on purpose, just to upset her," the redhead finally spoke, huffing in frustration. She raked her fingers through her waist-length locks, futilely attempting to smooth the knotted stands but only succeeding in pushing them away from her face.

"Jean, the fault is mine. I have met with Rogue at this time and day of the week for nearly two years now and I still managed to completely forget about it. So, if anyone is to blame it is me. There is no way you could've known, so please do not berate yourself about this," he spoke softly, his words and tone calming and consoling the younger telepath more effectively than a towel straight out of the dryer.

"And I would like to add that if anyone should feel that they have failed to do right by Rogue, it is me," the professor stated somberly.

Jean's emerald green eyes widened at the sudden change in her mentor's tone. When she didn't comment, he continued, a far-away look in his eyes, as though his mind weren't even truly in the room any longer, "She has been here longer than half the current student body and what have I truly done for her? I have helped make her a more formidable opponent in battle, given her a nice place to live, and little else."

The young woman ducked her head in embarrassment at his words, feeling acutely and abruptly selfish.

"But it does not benefit anyone to dwell on the mistakes of the past, for they cannot be changed. All one can do is look to the future and strive to do better," the bald telepath finished, eyes shifting to hers as a small smile curled his lips.

She nodded and absently smoothed her hair, at a total loss for words.

"Now, after journeying into your mind I believe that I have gotten a better grasp on the problem," he spoke in a lightning-fast, obvious change of subject, clearing his throat before continuing. "I believe that what you experienced was merely a very vivid nightmare, not an actual event that you witnessed psychically."

"Professor, I've had that same dream every night for weeks now. I still see it sometimes when I'm awake." She shuddered at the memory. "I can still hear the screams, see the destruction, feel the flames on my skin… And you expect me to believe that it's all just a _dream_?" Jean asked incredulously, disbelief evident in her eyes.

"Jean, if something of this magnitude had really occurred, why would you be the only telepath to have felt it? Shouldn't I have felt it, too?"

She bit her lower lip distractedly, unable to contradict his logic. "Okay, but why was I floating above the bed when I woke up? I was so close to the ceiling I could've reached out and touched it. The furniture was shaking, too. I've never been able to do that in my sleep before. How do you explain that?"

"Jean, I can sense nothing different in your mind. Your mental capabilities have steadily increased over the past few years, but that is to be expected. So, if something has changed it is not your powers. I believe that you were merely so upset by the dream, and combined with the stress its recurrence has caused, your powers activated to protect you."

His calm voice did nothing to placate the dread gnawing at her gut and when she spoke again, her words poured out in a torrent, "Something has to be wrong, Professor. The nightmare only seems to be getting worse. At first, I just got impressions of things, but now…" She cut herself off, choking on a sob.

"What, Jean?" he pressed, moving his wheelchair to her side so that he could put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I watch them all die. Thousands of people and they're all dying right in front of me. And I can't stop it. I just see it happen over and over," she whimpered, lifting green eyes overflowing with tears to his.

Suddenly, the proverbial floodgates opened and she dropped her head to her arms, weeping openly. She tightened her grip around her raised knees and rocked herself in place, shoulders heaving as painful, wrenching sobs tore their way out of her body. Shocked at the abruptness of her breakdown, Xavier sat motionless for an instant before quickly moving to soothe the hysterical woman before him. He winced as her mental walls fell and images and impressions from her nightmare flooded his mind.

**XXX**

**A world completely enveloped in flames. The sky and ground indistinguishable from one another as fire consumed everything in sight. Tiny, frantic, and feebly moving forms scurried about below like ants, their flesh burning and melting away. A chaotic symphony of screams rose into the air, the sound building up to an inhuman crescendo. A loud, animalistic shriek from above signaled the final stage of the inferno, laying to waste the entire landscape, leaving only a scorched and vast nothingness behind.**

**XXX**

"Jean. _Jean_, I want you to look at me," Xavier demanded, slightly shaking the younger telepath's shoulders.

Sniffling, she lifted her red-rimmed gaze to his.

"It is just a dream, I promise you. I see how horrible it is and I can feel your pain, but it is only a dream. And nothing you should worry about." A gentle psychic nudge accompanied his words, going wholly unnoticed by his charge in her chaotic state of mind.

Feeling the majority of her anxiety fade, Jean smiled weakly. "Thank you, Professor."

"Not a problem. If you have the nightmare again, come see me immediately and we'll deal with it together, okay?"

Nodding, she rose, wiping her eyes. The redhead caught sight of her disheveled appearance in the large, gilt framed mirror on the wall and gasped in horror. "Um, I think I'm just going to go and get a shower now. I'll see you later."

She immediately started toward the door, intent on making her way back to her room and the shower without being seen. It would take weeks to repair the damage looking like this would cause to her image. Her appearance was the only normal thing about her and right now, some normalcy was exactly what she wanted.

"Oh and Jean," he called, stopping her just as her hand reached the doorknob, "you might want to think about having Scott sleep in his own room until we get this sorted out."

"Professor!" she spluttered, a blush exploding across her cheeks.

"I may be idealistic in some respects, but when it comes to young people in love, I'm a realist. Besides, you are both consenting adults, and as long as you keep things confined to your respective rooms, I have no problem with it."

Ears still burning in shock and embarrassment, Jean quickly fled the room.

Xavier chuckled lightly as he settled himself back behind his desk, but his humor quickly faded. He propped his chin on his steepled fingers, worry lines cutting across his forehead in a series of deep furrows.

He hated lying to Jean like that, and absolutely loathed manipulating her mind, but it was necessary. He'd worked so hard to prevent the vision he'd seen in Apocalypse's mind (12) over a year ago from coming into being, but these dreams threatened to undo everything. If the presence he'd felt in the dream was the same one he'd seen her turning into in that possible future, they were all in serious trouble and not just Jean.

Ever since he and Jean had battled each other while he was under Apocalypse's influence, her powers had been incredibly erratic. One day she could blast steel-reinforced walls into scrap metal with barely a thought, and the next she had to concentrate just to pick up a penny. But her telepathy had been what most disturbed him. She was responding with greater ease to questions just by projecting answers into people's minds rather than speaking. Just like she had when she was upset about Rogue.

Scott had even begun to ask him if there was something he could do to keep his thoughts to himself when he was around Jean. He didn't want to lie to her, but it was getting to the point where she knew his every thought every hour of the day.

Sighing deeply, Xavier told himself the same thing he'd been telling himself for years: the future is not set in stone, and he can change this. That was how he justified messing with Jean's mind to himself. If her transformation would be triggered by a loss of control, he'd help her to stay in control, even if she didn't know about it. He'd debated if she'd be better off knowing about the vision, but had ultimately decided against it. Why should she be made to worry about something that might never happen? But he was beginning to question the logic of that decision, particularly because of a single startling detail of the dream.

Jean wasn't seeing it as a passive observer, but as the one inflicting the destruction.

XXX

Rogue felt vastly calmer as she stepped into the mansion's kitchen, particularly once the seductive scent of coffee captured her attention. The tears were long gone and she'd already rubbed away the tracks they'd left in her makeup. She went straight to the coffee maker and poured herself a cup just the way she liked it: milk, sugar, with a little coffee—or at least that's how Logan always described it, she thought smirking.

Just thinking of the older man made her wish he were back already, but the knowledge that he'd be home soon enough helped compensate for him not being there at the moment.

Ororo Munroe strode through the door just as Rogue took her first sip of the soothing, warm liquid. The weather manipulator's sky blue eyes twinkled vibrantly as she flashed the young Gothic woman a warm smile. Her long silver hair was gathered into a high ponytail on the very top of her head, but the ends of her locks still swung well past the middle of her back. She wore a tightly-fitting, bright crimson silk blouse with gold accents encircling the neckline and bell sleeves over a long cream-colored peasant skirt that flowed down to her ankles. The shirt's rich red hue made her already flawless bronze skin seem to glow from the inside out. Large gold hoop earrings dangling from her earlobes, a matching choker, and a pair of flat gladiator sandals completed the outfit.

Rogue had to smile at the gorgeous ensemble; the sumptuous fabrics and tastefully simple jewelry combined with the grace and poise of Ororo made it truly breathtaking.

"Good morning, Rogue," the taller woman said as she began preparing a cup of tea.

"Everyone's entitled ta their own opinion… (13)" Rogue replied with a grin. "But ya look happy. Did ya have a good time with Evan's parents?"

Ororo's expression fell slightly at the mention of her nephew and Rogue mentally kicked herself.

"As good as can be expected given the circumstances," Ororo responded, placing the teakettle on the stove.

"Have they still not heard from him?"

"No. The last time they heard from him was when he called to let them know that he was okay after he and the rest of the Morlocks left the mansion."

Rogue heard the tears in Ororo's voice and could swear that outside the sky darkened. Evan choosing to continue living with the Morlocks instead of returning to the X-Men had hurt his aunt almost as much as it had his parents, especially after the incident. It'd been six months ago that the Morlocks were attacked and the majority of the sewer-dwelling mutants hadn't survived the massacre. The X-Men had arrived too late to stop the killings, but they did provide as much medical attention as they could. The Morlocks had understandably been reluctant to accept help at first, but Evan had convinced Callisto and the other survivors they'd be safe at the mansion while their injuries healed.

It was no secret that Ororo had hoped Evan would decide to stay indefinitely at the mansion, but less than a month after the Morlocks moved in, they disappeared without a word. Evan had later called his parents and his aunt to say he was all right, but that the Morlocks were his family now and he was going to stay with them.

That'd almost broken the weather-manipulator's heart. And upstate New York had borne the brunt of her grief, enduring severe weather conditions for weeks afterward.

"Ah'm sure he's fine. Evan's stubborn, but he's not stupid. If he needed anythin' he'd call," Rogue said as reassuringly as she could.

"I hope you are right," Ororo replied, half-heartedly attempting a smile as she moved to take the now steaming teakettle off the burner.

Rogue clicked on the television set on the counter and flipped through the channels, looking for something to fill the silence so that she'd be less likely to put her foot in her mouth again. She could hear Ororo moving around in the kitchen behind her, getting sugar and cream for her cup of tea, but she pretended to be too deeply immersed in her search for something to watch for conversation. After scanning through five nearly identical news stations she finally gave up and settled on one, sipping her coffee as she leaned against the island at the center of the kitchen, barely listening to what the overly perky brunette anchorwoman was saying.

"…_last night marks the fourth sighting of the masked vigilante in the New York area. According to witness reports, a blond woman in a mask has appeared seemingly out of nowhere and thwarted criminal acts ranging from muggings, attempted sexual assault, and grand theft. After stopping the alleged offenders, she is reported to have left them unconscious at the scene for police officials before disappearing once again._

_Although those she has rescued have come to regard her as a guardian angel of sorts, the New York Police Department has stated that the actions of this individual, while heroic, are extremely dangerous and should not be attempted by civilians under any circumstances. The NYPD's spokesman went on to say that the department does intend to apprehend her…"_

The sound of footsteps pounding down the staircase followed by a loud bamf outside the kitchen door interrupted the news and heralded the appearance of Kurt Wagner.

"It's time to make the doughnuts! Good God, it's time to make the doughnuts!" the blue-furred mutant called with mock-urgency as he teleported into the room, bypassing the door.

Sans image inducer and clad only in a long-sleeved rugby shirt and baggy cargo shorts, he swept dramatically into the room, grinning wickedly and flashing his tiny fangs. Ororo's brow scrunched up in confusion at his announcement, but Rogue chuckled lightly under her breath, instantly catching the reference (14).

"Mornin' hell beast," she replied with a broad smirk.

"Mornin' minor character," he shot back, grinning even wider at the fact that she was playing along with him.

Ororo continued to look at them with an utterly lost expression on her face, but eventually shrugged it off and left the room with her cup of tea. Gold eyes flashing merrily, Kurt grabbed his standard breakfast food, Fruit Loops, from a cabinet and poured himself a bowl, popping a handful of cereal into his mouth straight from the box as he teleported over to the refrigerator to get the milk.

The strong odor of rotten eggs filled her sinuses and Rogue nearly spit out the drink of coffee she'd just taken.

"Kurt! No 'porting when people are eating!" she yelled, waving one arm to dissipate the purple cloud of sulfur and brimstone that always accompanied the use of her half-brother's powers.

"But you're not eating, are you _mein schwester_?" Kurt pointed out, his long tail flitting about excitedly behind him as he padded barefoot toward her with the milk jug in hand.

Narrowing her eyes, Rogue bristled at his teasing and ground out through clenched teeth, "Eating. Drinking. Same difference! It's not nice ta 'port 'round people doin' that. It makes everythin' taste like crap."

He just shrugged and poured milk over his cereal before joining her in leaning against the kitchen island. His long spaded tail returned the milk to the open fridge and shut it as he walked by. Kurt stood so close to her that his covered elbow occasionally brushed hers as he shoveled his breakfast into his mouth, and she fought the instinctive urge to shift slightly away from him. He was one of the few people in the mansion who ever got that close to her and seemed to be genuinely at ease with it, and, although she hated to admit it, Rogue loved that about him.

She hadn't realized how much having a brotherly presence in her life meant to her until she'd almost lost it. But after a lot of time and effort, she and Kurt had managed to get past what she'd done to Mystique and back to a place where they could trust and depend on one another again.

She sometimes found it hard to recognize the young man beside her as Kurt. He'd once been exactly her height, but now he towered a full head and shoulders over her. He still had a slender build, but surprisingly strong muscles were clearly evident in his arms and legs. However, the change Rogue probably liked the most was the haircut that his girlfriend, Amanda, had suggested. His hair was no longer a guy-version of a bob, instead it now fell across his forehead in neat strands that barely touched the tops of his pointed ears. He acted like the shorter length of his hair annoyed him when Amanda was around, but Rogue could tell he actually liked it.

"So," he began, talking while still chewing his last spoonful and inadvertently dribbling milk out of his open mouth and down his chin, "what're you doing in here so early? Shouldn't you be in the Prof's office right now, or did you decide to bail again?"

Kurt almost jumped at the abrupt shift in Rogue's expression his words caused; the slight smile that'd appeared when the milk dripped out of his mouth immediately vanished, only to be replaced with an absolutely murderous look.

"Ah am supposed ta be there, but lil' _Miss Perfect_ showed up an' stole mah appointment away from meh," the Goth hissed bitterly, turning an electric green glare on the helpless blue elf.

He squirmed uncomfortably under her gaze until she turned away and took a sip of coffee. An uneasy silence ensued with Rogue staring blankly at the television while Kurt tried to think of something to improve her mood. He didn't like seeing his sister upset, much less causing her to be upset, especially when she'd seemed to be in a much better mood than usual today.

He scratched his head as he racked his brain for what he could do to possibly cheer her up, successfully making his short hair stick up in half a dozen directions, but inspiration still eluded him. A full minute passed before realization dawned of what he should do, but he almost wished he hadn't thought of it. The bruises from the last time he and Rogue had done that had only faded a few days ago.

But he was responsible for her being upset again, so it was up to him to fix things. He closed his eyes and bit the bullet, "Rogue, would you like to practice fencing with me again?"

His adopted sister turned, and, upon seeing the martyred expression on his face, flashed him a wicked grin. Stomach dropping to the soles of his bare feet, Kurt wondered idly if he had the time to draft a will before he allowed an angry Rogue to come near him with a sword.

**A/N: **All right guys, I **definitely **need some major reviews here! This was the first time I've ever even attempted a remotely sexual scene, let alone one w/vampirism involved. So please give me some feedback on it. I personally think vamps are hot, but don't worry, **REMY IS ONLY A VAMPIRE FOR THE DREAM.** For the rest of the story he will be the traditional Remy from the comics/show. I used the element of vampirism to have the dream be more than just a hot fantasy, but also because of the multiple metaphoric parallels that could be drawn to vampirism and Rogue and Remy's particular relationship/situation. Can y'all guess what some of those metaphors were?

I know this chapter was way long and I put entirely too many references and stuff in here, but I wanted to get all that back story stuff mostly out of the way so that next chapter can move right into the REAL Romy stuff. That's right readers, Rogue and Remy's reunion will be in the next installment! :-)

Translations (from French unless otherwise noted):

_Quoi?: _What?

_Dieu merci!: _Thank God!

_Très_: Very

_Maudit__: _Damn

J_olie __chérie: _Pretty darling

_Mein schwester: _(German) My sister

1) Little nod to those who were unfortunate enough to have been forced—as I was—to read the original version of the Little Red Riding Hood tale, where Lil' Red is eaten by the Wolf and not conveniently saved by a Woodsman. The primrose path, aka the path of sensual pleasure, is her undoing and as a punishment she is "eaten" (a more kid-friendly way of saying raped and killed) by the Wolf. I just thought that Remy would be beating himself up as bad as possible for "defiling" an innocent girl, so why not totally denounce himself as being not much better than a rapist? Yeah, I know he needs some serious therapy…or maybe I do since I thought of it? Don't you judge me! lol

2) Now let me just say for those comics fans out there that know, the necklace Remy has here (_L'Etoile du Tricherie, _aka "The Cheating Star") in the comics is a pendant, not a necklace, but ya know what? This is MY version here and I say that the damned thing is a necklace, okay? lol

3) All information on this injury was found on the website s-u-i-t-e-1-0-1 DOT o-r-g in an article by Steven M. Cohen on common shoulder injuries involving torn cartilage. If there are any inconsistencies with this information, blame him and my own incomplete medical knowledge—I quit the pre-vet program after only two years—for not being able to catch it.

4) Four tablets of Aspirin all at once is NOT the appropriate dosage (see the label printed on the back of the magical bottle for instructions), but Remy is a **bit **self-destructive, so he would just take four. Numb all the pain as it were, physical and emotional… So please don't go out and O.D. on Aspirin (can you even really do that?) then say I condone it, b/c I **DON'T!**

5) The actual quote is: "When Jesus said love your enemies, I'm pretty sure he meant don't kill them." I saw it on a bumper sticker a few days ago and just loved it. It's on T-shirts, too. Sorry if it's too corny, but I like corny stuff. :-)

6)"Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of your opponent's fate."—Sun Tzu, The Art of War, Chapter Six, "Empty and Full."

7) Season 2, "Day of Reckoning Parts I and II."

8) The infamous Mesmero-induced kiss of season 3, "Dark Horizons Part I."

9) I LOVE this book! The main characters in the short story "Hunter's Choice" by Shiloh Walker remind me so much of Rogue and Remy that it's scary. Oh! Anyone care to guess what that little red and white piece of paper inside the book was that got her so upset? ;-}

10) Evanescence's "Good Enough" seemed to be verbatim what I wrote for Rogue to be feeling in this scene the entire freakin' song! I couldn't believe it when I listened to my "Open Door" CD after I finished writing that scene. So, it was basically a question of how could I **not** put a line from the awesome song in there on my next edit? "Crave my heart and it's bleeding in your hand. I can't say no to you," is the actual line I augmented and added to the story, but the rest of the song is equally appropriate as well. I highly recommend reading that scene while listening to this song if you want an auditory feel for Rogue in that scene.

11) Season 3, "Dark Horizons Part II."

12) Season 4, "Ascension Part II."

13) Yet another McLintock! quote, G.W. McLintock (John Wayne) gives the same reply when asked if it is a nice morning while he has a hangover.

14) "It's time to make the doughnuts! Good God, it's time to make the doughnuts," "Mornin' hell beast," and "Mornin' minor character," are all references from something I absolutely love, so if anyone were to guess correctly what I was referring to there—or the vampire metaphors as well—I'd be extremely tempted to take requests for later chaps from that person or people.

Thanks for reading!

Sassy18


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